Torr unceremoniously drops her. He races between our horses, holding their muzzles between his giant palms. He appears to sense how hard this journey was for them. Despite their exhaustion, they relax in the sunlight at his touch.

“What can we do for them?” Torr asks in a low voice.

I know his heart aches for them, and I can’t bear to tell him there’s nothing we can do but let them rest. The horse won’t survive long without water or food.

“Everyone empty your packs; let’s see how much we have,” I say. No one had time to collect our larger supplies, but we must have a few items we could survive on.

We look at the small pile: a few pieces of dried meat, some apples, many daggers, and the small mirror Lin keeps wrapped in a soft cloth. Like Lin, it’s come in handy. When I first saw it, I teased him about his vanity until he immediately caught the sun’s rays with it and set the leaves at my feet aflame.

A far greater concern sharpens the ache in my chest. Eleven of The Cloaked fell to the Obsidian Mist. Only four of us stand in a circle with Idalia. I stifle a hot breath and brush the end of my nose with my thumb.

“We’ll take a short rest, and then we’ll look for water. If we can get the horses water, they’ll have a better chance of survival,” I say. I reach deep into my pocket and feel the crumpled map. Thank the gods.

Everyone agrees except Idalia. She’s stopped laughing and carefully looks at each horse with a worried frown. The animals’ fate and the night’s horrors have worn at her face, but she’s still beautiful. Unfortunately.

“So, I guess the childhood tales are true,” Lorna sighs, dropping onto her haunches. “I mean, we know the gods possess magic, but these woods… and that…”

Lin exhales loudly. “These damn trees could give the Lady and the Guard a run for their money. That was pure evil, a blanket of darkness. Cold and unremorseful.” His body shakes, and he flings his hands away from him. “Scariest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

“Braze,” Torrent cuts in, looking pointedly at me. He says nothing else, but his gaze conveys everything. I nod, and he turns to the others. Their mouths pull into a straight line before they nod back.

Torr steps into the center of our circle and looks up to the trees. He clears his throat and begins to sing:

“Oh, Brethren, the sun has burned out,

and the stars are shining bright.

Brighter they may still when you join them tonight.”

Torrent uses the back of his wrist to wipe away a rogue tear that drops down his cheek. His voice resonates; its low tones carry the words miles away with the rolling wind. I struggle to hold back my tears. I knew this mission would be difficult, but to lose so many, so soon.