"They're falling back," Gale said as he looked behind him.
His voice carried no relief, only confirmation. Ludwig risked a glance over his shoulder while still moving, and saw it clearly: the bounding red orcs had slowed, their pursuit breaking apart into staggered clusters rather than a tight, hungry line.
The first sprint had been a violent burst of power, mass thrown forward with brute intent, but brute intent was expensive. Their hulking bodies were built to crush, not to maintain long distance.
Some of them had already stopped to brace hands on knees, chests heaving, heads lifting to glare after Ludwig with frustrated hunger rather than certainty. Even at a distance, Ludwig could feel their irritation like heat.
