Roric's Wisdom

The forest floor was a tapestry of damp leaves and gnarled roots, each step a soft crunch that echoed the unease settling in my gut. We’d been walking for what felt like an eternity, the sun a distant memory filtering through the thick canopy. Agnes was out there, somewhere, a shadow waiting to pounce. And I, Gage, was supposed to be leading the charge. Leading… what a joke. My hands felt clammy on the hilt of my sword, a familiar weight that suddenly felt foreign.

“You’re quiet today, Gage,” Bowen’s voice, a low rumble beside me, broke the silence. He nudged me with his shoulder, his axe slung casually over his back. “Still thinking about that particularly stubborn knot on your boot?”

I managed a weak smile. “Something like that.” He knew me too well. He always had.