The ride north began in silence.
Cherion sat inside his carriage, arms folded, trying not to look as stiff as he felt. The curtains were pulled back just enough for him to sneak a look, and every so often he leaned closer to the window, watching what was happening outside. In front of him, another carriage rattled along the uneven path. That one belonged to Zarius. Even from this far, Cherion could tell by the way the guards rode it wasn't just any carriage.
A line of soldiers followed behind on horseback, their armor flashing here and there whenever sunlight managed to break through the forest canopy. Wolves padded along too, men in their shifted forms, silver-gray and black, watching the trees with ears pinned forward. It was a scene Cherion had only read about before. And now he was part of it.
Not that he felt like a grand participant in some fated journey. No. He felt like a decorative parcel. Wrapped up, ribboned, and ready to be handed off.
