The trip north seemed less dramatic than they had expected. Not quiet — birds in trees, wind in grass, the soft crush of boots over dry earth. But it was the kind of quiet that raised the hair on your arms. "There was something in that that for me was like, somebody played a song and forgot the melody. As though the world held its breath.
Lucian felt it first. His hand rested on the hilt of his old sword, but there was no enemy in front of him. "`There's something bad coming from the land,'" he was muttering.
"Yes," agreed Serakha, and gazed out to the horizon. "It feels... pulled back. As though the world is holding its breath for something."
They passed crumbling fences, abandoned wells, houses with open doors but not a footprint near. The villages were empty. Not ravaged — abandoned. No signs of struggle. No sign of why.
Just gone.
