The sun bled out across the ridge, turning the sky into a furnace of copper and violet. Byung crouched low in the tangle of thorn-bushes that clung to the hillside above the mine, one arm cradling Murkfang's fever-hot body against his chest. The goblin's breath came in shallow, rattling gasps, but his eyes were open now, glassy and fixed on the valley below. Maui knelt beside them, a mountain of green muscle and iron calm, her huge hand resting on Byung's shoulder as if anchoring him to the earth itself.
They had left the horse a hundred paces back, hidden in a dry gully. Now the animal wandered alone into the open ground before the main gate, reins dangling, saddle empty. The scent it carried goblin sweat, orc musk, the sour stink of sickness, drifted on the evening wind like bait.
