The shadows moved.
I stood frozen at the edge of the campfire, flame shard warm against my hip, as the figures stepped forward from the trees.
Tall. Lean. Ears longer than mine, pointed sharply back. Cloaks and robes that shimmered faintly like leaves in the wind. They didn't walk so much as glide.
Half-elves.
I swallowed hard.
I had been here for thirty seconds. Thirty. And already the universe had decided to throw plot at me. I hate mornings. I hate destiny. I especially hate both before mosswater.
The squad slowly noticed. Flick stopped mid-tangle with the tent ropes. Tinker lowered his broken scanner. Cinders froze with her spoon raised threateningly at a particularly annoying root.
Relay, of course, stepped forward cheerfully.
I closed my eyes. For the love of flame, please don't make this worse.
