The tracks were fresh—wagon wheels imprinted into the dirt, horse hooves kicking up loose gravel. A caravan had passed here not long ago.
Kaelred, still gasping for air, perked up. "So… you're saying… we might not have to run the whole way to Volcrest?"
Argolaith rubbed his jaw. "If they're merchants, they might be heading in the same direction."
Kaelred visibly brightened. "Oh, thank the gods."
Malakar, however, remained cautious. "Or they are not merchants at all."
The weight of his words settled over them.
Argolaith frowned, scanning the horizon again. True merchants wouldn't have traveled this road unless they had guards. And if there were guards, there was the possibility of conflict.
Kaelred groaned. "Just once, I'd like to meet people who don't want to kill us."
Argolaith smirked. "Then we're in the wrong world."
They didn't slow.
The caravan wasn't far ahead—maybe half a day's run, if they kept pace.
