Chapter 81: Forged in the March
The world had narrowed to the rhythm of breath and the pounding of blood in Kael's ears. The forest north of Silverfang Keep was a blur of grey trunks and deepening shadows as the pack ran. They did not lope; this was not a hunt for game. It was a forced march, a brutal, sustained sprint that pushed muscle and will to their breaking point. The air burned in his lungs, a searing contrast to the icy calculation that had settled in his mind.
He ran at the head of the column, Ronan a half-step behind, a perpetual, steady presence. Beside and behind them, weaving through the trees with an unsettling, fluid grace, were the warriors of the Sun-Kissed Sands. They ran silently, their pale robes making them look like ghosts haunting the Silverfang charge. Nabil was among them, the old Voice showing a stamina that belied his years.
