The sky had darkened into twilight, the forest deepening in hues of blue and gray. The air grew cooler, carrying the earthy scent of moss and damp wood. Taryn's pace was steady but swift, her focus narrowing as they pushed through the last stretch of forest. The charm the old woman had given her rested heavily in her pack, its weight more psychological than physical.
Lucien adjusted the chest on his shoulder for the hundredth time, though not from strain—just a habit, as if the motion grounded him in the silence. The fishing pole in his free hand swayed with each step, the ashwood catching faint glimpses of fading light.
"Relax, Warrior," Lucien said from behind her, reading the silence. "We're almost home. Unless, of course, you're worried about me charming whatever's out here."
Taryn's gaze darted to him, her frown deepening. "Keep talking, and whatever's out there might decide you're an easier meal."
