The morning air hung heavy with an unspoken charge, the kind of tension that clung to everything but remained just out of reach. Taryn knelt by the fire, her blade steady in her hands as she worked its edge against the whetstone. The rhythmic scrape of steel against stone was deliberate, her focus sharp—or at least, she wanted it to appear that way.
A short distance away, Kah'el worked in quiet concentration, carving protective runes into the wood posts marking the perimeter. Each deliberate press of his blade into the wood seemed more forceful than necessary, as though he was channeling something into his work.
