Juna crouched upon the vantage overlooking the lower road, resting the shaft of her glaive across her knees in silence.
Juna counted the first two patrols by the sound of their harness buckles and kept her glaive out of sight below the rock lip.
Distant wind whistled across the jagged cliffs above the gorge, carrying the hollow metallic clatter of marching patrols and harness buckles.
Her wolf ears twitched toward the canyon floor, separating the rumble of wagon wheels from the clatter of bronze bells.
"Three covered wagons and twenty foot soldiers," she murmured, watching the column wind through the rocky narrows.
The officer leading the column rode a sturdy draft beast, with a young bell carrier marching close beside him.
She recognized the brass bell immediately from the timing charts she examined after the previous day's ambush.
The convoy was attempting to slip away toward the viaduct before sunrise, hoping the morning fog would mask their flight.
