It was early morning now. They'd made their camp as close to the edge of the forest as they reasonably dared, with their first target only a half hour away from it. It would have been optimistic to claim that the men were well rested, despite the efforts of Nolan to slow things down, so that the marching days wouldn't be as tough, and they'd have due time to recover.
Even with that extra recovery time, they found that they couldn't sleep. This deep into Stormfront territory as they were, how could they? It felt like wherever they stood, Oliver Patrick's shadow extended. He was an inescapable phantom. His presence was felt in every gust of wind and rustle of branches, in every crow that seemed to be observing them too intensely.
