Emmett had stayed knocked out the entire night, the previous day having exhausted him, but Foxyn’s arguing had brought him out of it. The sun hasn’t risen, and all members of the unit appear worn out. Seton is the most put together washing off his face and diligently cleaning his piercings.  Ashford restlessly runs his fingers through his hair as he listens to Foxyn’s tirade and  Mher’s counters.

When Emmett sits up,  Ashford watches guiltily. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re discussing our options for crossing into Misthyr,”  Ashford explains.

Foxyn turns around holding up the map and pointing at it. “This idiot”- a pointed glare at  Mher- “thinks we should follow Aela river despite the fact it runs through a completely open field!” Foxyn continuously points at different parts of the map, but it’s too dark for anyone who doesn’t have it memorized to be able to follow along. “My suggestion’s not ideal,” Foxyn grounds out looking at  Ashford to appeal to his reasoning, “but it should have the least Misthen. It’s west toward the bottom of the Thireel Range and thick with trees, not east back toward the battlefield! It’s difficult to travel through but equally difficult for the Misthen.”

Emmett notices  Ashford looking over his wounds, checking his condition prompting him to say, “That makes sense, then why would we follow the river?”

“I can watch for the Misthen patrol through the ley line,”  Mher answers simply.

“Thought you weren’t allowed to use the ley line,” Foxyn mutters, arms crossed.

 Mher corrects, “She said I can’t communicate through it, and since you didn’t like the pond analogy I thought of another. It’s the difference between drawing your bow and shouting at your target.”

Foxyn gives  Mher a dirty look about to rebuttal, but Emmett interrupts him, “What was the pond analogy?”

 Mher- disinterested in Foxyn- addresses Emmett, “I’ve heard other Alderkin describe it as making ripples in a body of water. Somewhere out of sight, someone can still see the ripples made, but without the ripples one wouldn’t be tipped off.”

“Then how can you see the patrol?”

“You can think of it as me hiding in the trees and watching them pass by the opposite shore then disappearing. I can’t follow their movements outside the ley line, but I can watch for them on the ley line ahead of us.”

“There aren’t any ley lines by Foxyn’s mountain pass?”

“There may be, but I can’t connect to any from here. To use the metaphor, there are no rivers that connect this pond to a pond in the mountains. If I was closer to the area I could get a sense for energies near Foxyn’s path,” Mher answers Emmett.

 Ashford’s eyebrows knit; “Then they can watch for our approach through the ley line.”

“They can watch for our approach anywhere along the border, but I can see ahead through the ley line and anticipate when they’ll be there. Their cycle is regular.” Emmett’s surprised, yet  Ashford remains conflicted.

Seton returns to give his piece of mind, “The ley line is the safer, more predictable route and we won’t waste as much energy. If you’re trying to let Foxyn down gently, just say it already.” Foxyn freezes.

 Ashford flashes a look of displeasure at Seton before asking  Mher, “Is there a big enough window to get by the patrol and into cover?”

“There is, but we’d have to move quickly.” Unintentionally they both look at Emmett.

Emmett snaps, “I’m not deadweight. I can handle a little jogging.”  Mher looks unconvinced.

“I just want to avoid worst case scenario,”  Ashford placates.

“The longer we dawdle the less cover we’ll have before the sun rises,” Seton criticizes.

“Alright,”  Ashford says tersely and ties back his hair, “we’ll try  Mher’s path. Let’s get going.” Foxyn swallows his pride and carefully folds his maps.

They pack up and follow  Mher’s lead in silence. They travel east through the woods until they reach the river then follow it north. As the trees become sparse and the plains open up they keep an eye out and are more guarded. The spattering of trees become boulders and they stop at a spot where a towering boulder sits half in the river. Though it’s still morning, the sun is a quarter of the way through it’s path.  Mher informs them that they’ve reached the stretch they’ll need to move quickly through, so they need to rest here before moving to the next spot.

 Mher’s gaze is distant and they appear less aware of their surroundings.  Ashford takes the time to check Emmett’s wounds, which he allows in order to prove he’s in okay condition. Foxyn looks over his maps as usual.

Seton is washing off his face in the river prompting Foxyn to tease, “You bathed last night and washed your face before we left this morning, what could you possibly be cleaning?”

“Are you unfamiliar with sweat? Or pollen from trees?”

“You’d never survive a journey by ship,” Foxyn scoffs.

“You’re right; it was dreadful,” Seton laments.

Foxyn is genuinely caught off guard, “You’ve sailed?”

“I have, just once. I didn’t take a short, skinny guy like you for a sailor,” Seton playfully mocks. “Were you stuck up in the crow’s nest?” Foxyn lifts up his maps as a hint. Impressed shock initially crosses Seton’s face then returns to a light-hearted neutral. “Ah, you made sea maps before. How’d the Wallard army catch you then?” Seton dries off and sits by Foxyn, who isn’t expecting it.

“I was working on a project in Khozē Port when the army’s enlistment blew through. Your mercenary group, it's from across the sea?” Foxyn’s curiosity piqued.

“Bei’el. We don’t typically work outside of it, but the compensation is per kill with a nice advance,” Seton wears a greedy smile staring off in a daydream.

“With all that money you’ll be distracted the whole ride home,” Foxyn jokes.

“Hmph, if the thought of it while coming here couldn't overcome that awful wind, I doubt it’d be any better going back. I swear the salty air stuck to me till I wet my blade with blood,” Seton uttered dramatically.

Foxyn pauses, “Aren’t both salty?”

“Maybe the metallic smell covered it up … or the opportunity to bathe again in something aside from rainwater.”

 Mher stands up, eyes still on something distant, “Get ready. We’re moving soon.” The unit assembles their gear and within moments  Mher says, “Now.” They dash with  Mher in the lead, all eyes searching the horizon.  Mher comes in and out of the ley line, Seton scours for the patrol, Foxyn watches for the forest’s edge, and  Ashford looks over his shoulder at Emmett, who grits his teeth. Foxyn sees the treeline and nearly speaks when  Mher changes direction. With no time to argue they obediently follow over the cusp of a hill landing in a dense brush.  Mher dives in and comes to a stop and the rest clatter in after them.  Mher’s eyes peer through the thicket, cat-like ears twitching.

“Why’d we stop?”  Ashford’s voice is hush, but  Mher shushes him.

“Next patrol’s about to pass.”  Mher points east where the plain’s horizon and forest’s edge meet. Their heavy breathing evens and specks of movement can be seen drawing closer. The whole unit tenses awaiting  Mher’s guidance. Their ears continue to flick in concentration- the patrol passes by the hill out of sight- but they keep waiting.  Ashford stares at them for an answer, but  Mher ignores him.

 Mher’s ears jerk up, they motion for them to leave the brush and whisper, “They’re crossing the river.”  Mher skirts the brush and stays hunched, “Stay low, behind the hill.” Their pace is brisk, but emphasizes silence.  Mher stops them again as the hill begins to flatten out. They listen to the east then shift their attention to the west. They look at Emmett and question, “Can you run?”

Taken aback at being singled out in the moment, Emmett blanks before asserting, “Yes.”

“Then we’ll wait for them to be out of earshot.” The unit anxiously waits for  Mher’s signal, searching for hints or patterns in their ears’ movements.

 Mher steps forward and peers toward the east, everyone’s breathing halts, their attention shifts west. They turn back to the group and nod. “Ready?” They nod in unison.

 Mher sprints forward and the rest chase after. To the east they could see figures disappearing, and to the west the next patrol had yet to appear. The weeds tangle and snap around their legs. The gear rattles in their bag, threateningly loud.  Mher’s ears remain alert and void eyes completely present. Emmett’s breathing is more laboured, but there’s no time to spare concern.

The terrain works against them as they near the treeline; loose rocks and an uphill battle.  Mher’s head whips to the west and they break out a last burst of energy to reach the trees. Sensing the urgency, the rest follow; their eyes fearfully searching the west horizon. Past the trees the group run several paces longer before  Mher circles round a massive trunk sinking to the ground to catch their breath.

Amidst their panting,  Ashford gasps, “We need to keep going.”

 Mher nods; “There’s a brook that should cover our noise.” They point a shaky hand before staggering to their feet out of breath. They quickly come upon the tumbling water that leads to the river and take an easier pace to catch their breath.  Ashford checks on every member of his unit and is waved off like an overbearing parent.

“Now what?” Foxyn directs his question at  Mher.

“I’ll watch for movement along the river’s ley line.” Still recovering from the run, Foxyn and the unit accept the answer.

They leave the treeline behind and follow the path the river carved. The adrenaline fades, but the silence endures as they trek through Misthyr territory.

The sun is at its peak when  Mher jolts, stopping dead in their tracks, their attention on the Misthen unit emerging on the shore upriver. Both groups lock eyes stunned.

The Misthen captain’s searching gaze lands on  Mher, and in fearful aggression he shouts, “Kill the Alderkin!”