The night blanketed the world in ink, save for the warm flicker of firelight that danced between three young figures. The fire cracked softly, casting long shadows onto the rocky ground and illuminating the nearby shrubs with an amber glow. Overhead, a sea of stars stretched endlessly, cold and distant, like watching eyes keeping their silent vigil. Crickets chirped faintly from the underbrush, and the occasional hoot of an owl gave a gentle rhythm to the stillness.
It had been eight hours since they'd left the familiar stone gates of Marlingdon behind. The city lights now seemed like a distant dream, swallowed by the dark horizon. They had taken the main road as Tavon advised, and finally decided to rest at the edge of the path, where the grassy field broke into patches of mossy rock and wind-carved trees. Their campfire was modest, just enough to keep them warm and give the night some shape.
