Ren squinted at the marker again, arms folded across her chest. "Do we keep going? Or stand here debating the historical significance of a stick?"
"I vote moving," Meren said. "Respectfully."
"No one asked for a vote," Lira said.
Ardan's hand hovered near his side. He hadn't drawn his blade, but the tension in his fingers said he might. Not out of panic. Just habit.
Lindarion stood again. The air was colder by the post. Not wind. Just colder. Like the trees themselves didn't want to breathe near it.
He adjusted his scarf and stepped ahead, slow. The path narrowed through two split trunks leaning toward each other like they'd argued centuries ago and never stopped.
The snow was quieter here.
His boots didn't crunch as much. More like pressed. Each step sank with a soft sigh.
