to tapered tip.
The canopy blotted out the brilliance of the afternoon light, leaving a diffuse, grey-green dimness below. Drifting patches of mist and thickets of heavy scrub further obscured her view. Even in the broadest of daylight, the Widower’s Wood was a dark place.
The forest also swallowed sound. Edrea could hear Pendrake riding Codex a dozen paces behind her, and could make out Aeshnyrr’s soft stepping as she trailed the professor on a lead, but she had to strain to hear anything beyond that.
Well, anything except Kinik. The poor ogrun creaked and clomped louder than any two of their mounts put together. Louder than Oathammer eating, even.
Edrea lowered her gaze and scanned again. If she was right, the Tharn had detoured to run up the middle of a stream for almost a day’s travel, hoping to throw off whatever pursuit Cygnar might muster. An effective tactic, but that stream meandered quite a bit. Edrea had suggested a shortcut, a straight path, in hopes of gaining ground.
If they didn’t pick up the trail soon, they would need to go back and—
The bent branch and clear footprint caught her eye from six paces away.
“Hah!” she exclaimed. “I do believe I’ve picked them up again!”
“Well done, Edrea!” said Pendrake. “Take a moment to refine your hypothesis while Codex and I circumnavigate this bit of thicket.”
The print came from what looked like a human foot, but with five indentations past the tip of each toe—toenails thickened and grown into claws as formidable as any beast’s. Tharn, and unmistakably so.
That foot had landed heavily in soft peat, the outer edge digging deeply, suggesting a turn. She looked where it led and saw more bent branches.
The Tharn must have thought their day of splashing and wading would shake all pursuit, because this trail was obvious. Hypothesis refined , she thought with a smile as Pendrake arrived behind her.
“They turned here and headed over the rise.” She pointed to the clear signs of passage.
Pendrake rode up alongside her, leaned low in the saddle, and adjusted his spectacles.
“Astutely concluded,” he said, nodding.
“Hah!” said Horgash, the exclamation a rasping bark. “I can make that trail out from back here.”
His voice pained Edrea, not for what he said, but because it sounded like it hurt him to speak. Trollkin voices were almost always great and booming, at once loud and melodious. Horgash’s sounded like his throat was full of scabs.
“Up and over, then,” said Pendrake. “Gained ground doesn’t grant us the luxury of dallying over an obvious track.”
Edrea nodded and strode up the trail. They’d been pushing hard, tracking for twelve hours each day. Pendrake had expressed little hope of catching up to the Tharn—a war party on the move certainly pushed as hard or harder than the five of them could—but it wouldn’t do to let the trail go cold. This shortcut was likely only worth a half day’s gain.
The new track led over a small rise and into an enormous hollow. The bottom of the hollow was invisible, obscured by what looked like a long lake of fog. The trees were farther apart here but grouped into tight stands, and the canopy above remained unbroken.
Edrea stopped at the top of the rise. Heavy mist and forest shadow meant it was going to be difficult for the others to see down there. She could weave sight for herself, but that might prove a bit of a strain atop the fast pace of the day. Her exultation at picking up the trail faded as fatigue caught back up to her. It was hard to outrun.
“I suspect,” said Pendrake, riding up and stopping beside her, “they came this way for water.” He pointed at one of the stands of trees thrusting upward from the mist toward the center of the hollow. “Giant bald cypress. Growing, no doubt, out of the body of water from which this heavy vapor originates.”
Edrea drew in a deep breath and started forward again, picking her way carefully down into the hollow.
The canopy blotted out the brilliance of the afternoon light, leaving a diffuse, grey-green dimness below. Drifting patches of mist and thickets of heavy scrub further obscured her view. Even in the broadest of daylight, the Widower’s Wood was a dark place.
The forest also swallowed sound. Edrea could hear Pendrake riding Codex a dozen paces behind her, and could make out Aeshnyrr’s soft stepping as she trailed the professor on a lead, but she had to strain to hear anything beyond that.
Well, anything except Kinik. The poor ogrun creaked and clomped louder than any two of their mounts put together. Louder than Oathammer eating, even.
Edrea lowered her gaze and scanned again. If she was right, the Tharn had detoured to run up the middle of a stream for almost a day’s travel, hoping to throw off whatever pursuit Cygnar might muster. An effective tactic, but that stream meandered quite a bit. Edrea had suggested a shortcut, a straight path, in hopes of gaining ground.
If they didn’t pick up the trail soon, they would need to go back and—
The bent branch and clear footprint caught her eye from six paces away.
“Hah!” she exclaimed. “I do believe I’ve picked them up again!”
“Well done, Edrea!” said Pendrake. “Take a moment to refine your hypothesis while Codex and I circumnavigate this bit of thicket.”
The print came from what looked like a human foot, but with five indentations past the tip of each toe—toenails thickened and grown into claws as formidable as any beast’s. Tharn, and unmistakably so.
That foot had landed heavily in soft peat, the outer edge digging deeply, suggesting a turn. She looked where it led and saw more bent branches.
The Tharn must have thought their day of splashing and wading would shake all pursuit, because this trail was obvious. Hypothesis refined , she thought with a smile as Pendrake arrived behind her.
“They turned here and headed over the rise.” She pointed to the clear signs of passage.
Pendrake rode up alongside her, leaned low in the saddle, and adjusted his spectacles.
“Astutely concluded,” he said, nodding.
“Hah!” said Horgash, the exclamation a rasping bark. “I can make that trail out from back here.”
His voice pained Edrea, not for what he said, but because it sounded like it hurt him to speak. Trollkin voices were almost always great and booming, at once loud and melodious. Horgash’s sounded like his throat was full of scabs.
“Up and over, then,” said Pendrake. “Gained ground doesn’t grant us the luxury of dallying over an obvious track.”
Edrea nodded and strode up the trail. They’d been pushing hard, tracking for twelve hours each day. Pendrake had expressed little hope of catching up to the Tharn—a war party on the move certainly pushed as hard or harder than the five of them could—but it wouldn’t do to let the trail go cold. This shortcut was likely only worth a half day’s gain.
The new track led over a small rise and into an enormous hollow. The bottom of the hollow was invisible, obscured by what looked like a long lake of fog. The trees were farther apart here but grouped into tight stands, and the canopy above remained unbroken.
Edrea stopped at the top of the rise. Heavy mist and forest shadow meant it was going to be difficult for the others to see down there. She could weave sight for herself, but that might prove a bit of a strain atop the fast pace of the day. Her exultation at picking up the trail faded as fatigue caught back up to her. It was hard to outrun.
“I suspect,” said Pendrake, riding up and stopping beside her, “they came this way for water.” He pointed at one of the stands of trees thrusting upward from the mist toward the center of the hollow. “Giant bald cypress. Growing, no doubt, out of the body of water from which this heavy vapor originates.”
Edrea drew in a deep breath and started forward again, picking her way carefully down into the hollow.
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