Rocks tumbled and rolled down the misty trail as we slowly made our way down from the mountains toward the grasslands below. The wagon's wheels rattled violently over the uneven path, sending jolts through the seat and making everything inside the wagon clatter and shift. The sweat and metallic scent of Silverfall were gradually fading, replaced by the crisp, earthy scent of wild grass and the faint perfume of flowers in bloom.
I gripped the edge of my seat tightly, doing my best to stay anchored and not slide into Xavion. He held the reins with one hand while using the other to brace himself against the wagon's constant jerks. The silence between us was filled only by the sounds of small rocks skittering down the path and the continuous thuds of items shifting and tumbling inside the wagon's hold.
