The hill rose like a knuckle of gray bone through the humus, ringed in ferns and low, thorned shrubs. The clearing had been cut, not with axes, but with the kind of tidy malice that knows how to leave no stump raw. Firelight lapped at the stone face, low and close, as if the flames had been warned not to show enthusiasm.
Ludwig was far from sight and notice, and was able to spy on them without being caught.
He sank behind a deadfall and let the moss claim his outline. Breath needless, heartbeat sank, the lantern's light he turned so its eye was blind. The air from their fire came to him chopped in slow squares by the wind's uncertain hand.
The low burning fire from their camp revealed three people wearing long puffy pants and sandals, short sleeved shirt with their chests beard, a scarf around their waist like a belt, and a woven scarf on their head. Long sharp and curved weapons were strapped to their waists along with daggers and other hidden weapons.
