Some days passed.
In the century since the end of the Cold War, no one had ever gone closer to the land inhabited by the black clans than we had.
It was difficult to ignore the shivers on their faces. When the clouds gathered over our heads, they took on a deep grey look that made the black clan territory appear gloomier than most woods. It looked like heaven was about to pour down on them.
Esme felt more than a mild chill running down her spine. This place haunted her. She turned to leave, carrying a basket of dried laundry ready to fold. It was all going to be well. She had to believe it.
She paused at his tent, taking a moment to carefully look around before sliding inside. Once inside, her eyes had adjusted to the dull lighting of the tent room. She noticed the lean figure with his back facing away from her, where she stood watching with a fixed gaze. He seemed to be busy at that corner, hardly noticing she had approached him from behind.
