Caspian walked at the very rear of the procession, his massive obsidian wings partially unfurled to act as a physical shield for the group. Every few steps, he would let out a low, vibrating growl that echoed through the canyon—a warning to the shadows above that he was just waiting for a reason to unleash his fire.
Kulu walked at the front, his bone dagger drawn and his golden eyes scanning the cliffs. He was no longer their Prince; he was a scout on hostile ground, his body tense and ready to intercept any dive-bomber that dared to test them.
Every time a loose pebble skittered down the cliffside, the Boars flinched, but they didn't stop. They moved as one unit, a slow-moving snake of silver and muscle winding through the red dust.
By the time they reached the Central Pass—the invisible line where the Falcon territory ended, and the neutral lowlands began—the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, staining the sky in bruised purples and deep oranges.
