The loud crowing of a rooster shattered the dim silence of dawn.
My eyes snapped wide open. Reflexively, my hand immediately clutched the hilt of the sword beside me.
My breathing quickened softly.
An intense ache spread through every joint, and the stab wound in my thigh throbbed painfully whenever I moved.
It felt as though I had only managed to close my eyes for a few minutes. Yet my body and instincts were forced to awaken at once.
The pungent scent of dry hay and horse manure was our only shelter for the night.
We had sneaked into a horse stable on the outskirts of the village. We used a pile of hay in the corner as an emergency bed, just enough to lay down our bruised bodies and recover from hours of forcing our way through the darkness of the forest.
I moved slowly toward a gap between the wooden boards of the stable, then peered outside.
The eastern sky was beginning to glow with a bluish-gray light.
Dawn had broken.
The small village was beginning to show signs of life.
Thin smoke began rising from the kitchens of several stilt houses, and two locals could be seen walking indistinctly toward the riverbank with wooden buckets.
Our time was up.
The morning crowds were a fugitive's greatest enemy. A single suspicious pair of eyes noticing our mud-stained clothes and traces of blood would be enough to bring disaster. If enemy faction spies or border soldiers were in this village, our presence would be exposed within minutes.
I immediately turned back toward the pile of hay.
Tywin was still fast asleep. His small body was curled tightly inside his dirty clothes, giving off soft, steady breaths. The ten-year-old boy was truly at the limit of his physical endurance.
I did not wake Tywin.
He needed every second of sleep to gather what little strength he had left.
Slowly and carefully, I slipped one hand beneath his back and the other beneath his knees, lifting the tiny body into my arms. His head rested against my shoulder without waking in the slightest.
I slipped out through the side door of the stable.
Using the shadows cast by houses and wooden fences, I moved quickly. My metal boots touched the wet, muddy ground as quietly as possible.
Whenever I heard a villager's door open or footsteps approaching in the distance, I stopped dead behind a covered walkway, making sure not a single gaze caught sight of us.
We managed to cross the village's outer boundary without arousing suspicion.
Before us now stretched a vast expanse of cornfields.
The human-high corn stalks stood in tight rows, their broad leaves still wet with the morning dew, forming perfect natural corridors to conceal our footsteps.
I stepped between the corn plants. The wet leaves brushed against our armor and dirty clothes, refreshing my skin, warmed by a slight fever.
In the middle of the fields, I stopped for a moment and looked back.
In the distance, the Silvanum Forest, so terrifying the night before, now looked like a gigantic dark shadow beneath the cold morning sky.
Even the village where we had briefly taken shelter was already far behind us, hidden beyond billowing clouds of thick mist.
I adjusted my grip as I carried the still-sleeping Tywin. The weight in my arms felt so real, but my eyes remained fixed straight ahead—cutting through the path between the endless fields of corn.
I could not stop.
We were not completely safe yet, but for now, we continued moving forward.