The clearing, which they found a bit conducive, was covered in red mist curled around their boots like living fingers, cool and damp. The clearing felt like a fragile bubble, isolated from the twisted forest that clawed at the edges of their senses.
Celina sat cross-legged on the cold, uneven earth, her back pressed against a gnarled tree root. The rough bark was a sharp contrast to the smooth skin of her palms, which were stained faintly with the black blood of their recent kills.
Thane crouched nearby, his flames dimmed but still flickering in small bursts as he scanned the treeline. His dark eyes reflected worry, not just for their safety but for her.
Cedric sat across from them, sharpening his sword with meticulous care, the rhythm steady and hypnotic. His usual calm had softened, revealing a flicker of doubt beneath the regal facade.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
