He looks back at Riona and Cass and walks past them, gesturing for them to follow him, “It’s not safe to stay here for much longer, let’s pack up and head out.”

They worked in silence, taking down the campsite quickly, Riona sheathed her sword with a sharp click, while Cass gathered the scattered berries she had, stuffing them back into her side pouch. Thistle waved his staff over the smoldering fire, snuffing out the last of the embers in a soft hiss. Riona fastens her breastplate back into place, the metallic clink echoing softly in the silence. Cass adjusts her hat back onto her head and pulls on her gloves, patting the brim into position. Thistle retrieves his cloak from the ground, shaking off the dirt before draping it over his shoulders. They go on, walking the path of the beach, gentle laps of waves accompanying them as they walk the shoreline, deliberately keeping their distance from the forest.

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The horses trotted steadily along the dirt road, the sun climbing higher in the sky, casting long shadows of the riders ahead. Hendrick's group had been traveling for hours, moving from town to town. Each stop followed the same routine: tying the horses at the edge of the settlement, entering with bundles of posters, and spreading out to cover as many visible spaces as possible. Hendrick stood in the bustling square of a modest village, its cobbled streets lined with merchants shouting deals over the chime of coins. The smell of fresh bread mixed with the earthy scent of wet stone, a contrast to his grim demeanor. Their armored boots clanged against the cobblestones as they approached the town's community board. One of the young knights pinned a poster over a faded parchment advertising a festival from two years prior.

“Sir,” another young knight approached, holding a bundle of remaining posters tightly to his chest. His spear rested awkwardly in his other hand, “We’re running low.”

Hendrick gave a quick nod, his eyes scanning the crowd for anyone paying attention to the board, “That’s fine. Make sure the rest are placed where people gather—markets, taverns, and stables. Anywhere travelers might pass through.”

“Yes, sir,” the knight said, bowing slightly before rushing off.

Nearby, two more knights were speaking with a blacksmith, the heat from the forge making their polished armor glint in the sunlight. The blacksmith, a stout man with soot on his face and arms thicker than tree trunks, squinted at the poster in one knight’s hand.

“That her?” the blacksmith asked, motioning to the picture.

“Do you recognize her?” the knight replied.

The blacksmith shook his head, his expression softening. “Can’t say I’ve seen her. You say that’s her dad?” gesturing to Hendrick, still standing, staring at the flier on the community board.

“Yea”

“Well, if she’s got her father’s blood, she’s probably stronger than she looks. Hope you find her, though.”

Hendrick overheard the exchange as he tied another poster to a wooden beam. A pang of guilt struck his chest at the mention of his bloodline, but he kept moving. The villagers were cooperative, some even offering their condolences, but no leads emerged. After a few hours, the group regrouped near the village gate. Hendrick dismounted and stood with his hands on his hips, gazing down the open road. It stretched endlessly, winding between the trees and disappearing into the horizon.

“Nothing,” one knight muttered as he tightened the straps on his saddle.

Hendrick gave a short sigh. “We press on to the next settlement. She’s out there, and we’ll find her. Mount up!”

The group climbed back onto their horses, the animals restless but obedient. The villagers waved them off with sympathetic looks as the knights rode back into the wilderness, Hendricks anxiety growing ever deeper in the passing hours.