The rain wasn't cold yet. Autumn was a fickle thing, coming and going in swells of warm sunlight that swooned dramatically away again beneath chilly gusts of wind. The sky was restless, full of brooding, silver-bottomed clouds that wouldn't keep still. She was thankful that the rain wasn't cold. She fecking hated cold rain.
It also meant that the tracks were stupidly easy to follow. Frozen mud was another thing altogether. One could tromp about all day and never leave much of a trace. These men were either careless or lazy. Or too brazen to worry about being found.
The land south of Bree-town sloped gently upwards beyond the lovely, mirror-like Halecatch lake. She didn't care for these fields and woods. They held too many memories that tasted sour and acidic in her brain. Rope snares. Blackwold breath that smelled like pipeweed and rotten teeth. Seeing Tara's blade slicing open throat after throat...
Her senses returned with a jolt. How long had she been standing in this spot? She shook her head violently and slapped herself on the cheek. This was not a place to become distracted and unaware. Nor to reminisce on long-dead memories and torment herself with how she might have done things differently.
The boot-tracks continued in a semi-direct line, moving south through the scattered trees. The wind insisted on whipping feathery locks of copper into her eyes, over and over, obscuring her view of the green-brown earth. She tucked them behind her ears repeatedly, only to have them come loose a moment later and repeat their infuriating dance across her vision. Finally, she yanked them back so violently that several strands broke off in her fingers.
A sharp, wheezing snort came suddenly on the air. Her head jerked up, eyes raking from side to side over the scene, while a hand flew back to grasp her bow. Ahead, a hart with a rut-swollen neck and elegant rack of antlers stared at her with dark, orb-like eyes. She froze reflexively, but did not reach for an arrow. The animal flicked an ear and promptly launched himself forward and away from her, white tail waving, banner-like, in alarm. He bounded into the thick tangle of brush and vanished with swiftly receding crashes and snaps.
She let out a held breath, and turned her gaze southward again. The line of campfire-smoke was unsettlingly close. She could smell it now, faint and intermittent, coming on this breeze, but not that one. The bootprints turned at the crest of the next slope and made directly for the rising, grey pillar.
