Pine needles crunched beneath Taren's feet as he crouched on the wooded ridge overlooking the northern highway.
Fifty paces below, a dusty freight caravan halted beside a ruined shrine where dry grass choked the altar stones.
Although the canvas covers bore no military insignias, eight hardened escorts circled one specific unmarked wagon with excessive vigilance.
Their hands rested near concealed weapons, and their sharp glances constantly scanned the surrounding tree line for potential ambushers.
"They swapped drivers three times in six leagues," Taren whispered into his communication talisman, his voice barely disturbing the pine branches.
"The front wagons carry ordinary turnip crates, but the central wagon has reinforced axles and guards with military discipline."
"We see them from the southern bend," Hajin replied through the link, his tone remarkably calm and steady.
"Do you want me to cut their retreat when the commotion begins down on the highway?"
