Lord Edvin's men barely reacted to his orders anymore.
Their swords dragged behind them, dull against the underbrush. Sweat streaked dirt-stained faces. They trudged with heavy limbs and glassy eyes, every step more a duty to survival than obedience. Some leaned against tree trunks, breaths shallow. Others stood motionless, staring into the darkening forest, still haunted.
Haunted by what they had seen. No one dared say it aloud. But every man felt it: they were chasing ghosts.
"Please…" one muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow. "Can this be over already…"
Up ahead, Lord Edvin stormed through the forest like a man chasing his own shadow. His eyes were red-rimmed, wild with obsession. He slapped away branches that clawed at his cloak and cursed at every patch of tangled vines and brambles that slowed his march. Dirt stained his once-fine boots. His breath came in ragged pants, his skin slick with sweat.
