The crack did not waver.
That was the first thing that Damien noticed about following it. The line in the soil ran with the specific directness of something that had not been subject to terrain negotiation when it formed.
Where his own path through the forest had bent around root formations and across elevated ground and through the gaps that the terrain offered, the crack simply ran straight ahead. Through roots, beneath them where it could not go through, across the surface of rock where the rock would not give, maintaining its heading with the indifference of something that had been produced by force rather than preference.
He followed it.
Fenrir followed it too, reading the line as direction with the same ease the wolf read most things — without requiring Damien to specify, the intent communicated through how Damien was holding himself more than through any instruction.
The forest changed.
