Departure

68. DEPARTURE.

CAIVAN

Gylen returns with Farden and Pedran from their scout and reports the area empty. "And what about Halden?" I ask. They exchanged glances, and Farden spoke: "It was... deserted." ‘Deserted?’ I repeat, "How is that?" "Not a living soul stirred." "It was like death had struck in one night," Pedran says. I smelled them. The winter wolves like they had been in the village. But if they had, they left little in the way of blood," Gylen quips.

I nod. I avoid the temptation to start speculating and connecting ropes, instead turning to Argell’s hut. "Get ready, brothers," I say, "we're headed for Tussel."

Someone, most likely Veesa, has cropped his hair so that it lies close to his scalp, low and spiky. It's almost like Keilen’s. They still haven’t seen her, not since yesterday, and I don’t want to bother Father about it. Lupion, I don’t want to think about it. There’s no telling how we’ll find her, dead or alive.

I shut down the ill thoughts and walk up to him, where he s