The first day of travel after leaving behind the heavy gates of Akhan felt like walking on a razor's edge. Although the sun shone with a deceptive intensity, the wind blowing from the north brought a biting cold that reminded everyone they were approaching the borderlands of Terminus.
Kai, mounted on Valira, led the march with a rigidity that did not go unnoticed by his companions. Behind him, the caravan stretched out like a wounded serpent.
The twenty two refugees walked with their heads bowed, their faces marked by the exhaustion of a night under siege and the fear of what lurked in the shadows of the road. Lint handled his wagon with trembling hands, while Nick glanced sideways at the sacks of salt as if they were gold bullion attracting all the demons in the world.
