The second day, they pushed harder.
They woke at first light, moving with purpose.
By midday, their pace had quickened. The landscape shifted around them—dense trees turning to open fields, winding trails leading into uneven, rocky terrain.
The silence had been replaced by the distant sounds of the world—chirping birds, rustling leaves, the occasional growl from unseen predators.
The urgency in Argolaith's chest grew stronger.
The more they moved, the lighter he felt. The further they traveled, the more it felt like his body was adjusting to the tree's distant pull.
He was getting closer.
Not by much.
But enough to notice.
On the third day, as they crested a hill, they spotted movement.
A trail curved through the valley below, where a small caravan of merchant wagons made their way across the landscape.
Six wagons, drawn by sturdy horses, their wheels creaking as they carried goods across the land.
