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I tried not to look too closely at the mangled forms as we approached and expected us to ride past in respectful silence.
“There won’t be any survivors,” Vesper said quietly, evidently thinking similarly. “There’s no point in looking. Let's ride on.”
But Draven was already sliding off his horse. He began leading it past one of the wagons. “We can restock our provisions. We’ll be grateful we did once we’re on our way back. If they have anything worth salvaging, let's find it now before the sand takes it. Then we’ll move on.”
“I wouldn’t mind a rest,” Lancelet admitted, sliding down from her own horse. “Your Draven pushes harder than I push myself,” she hissed at me.
She followed after him, leading her mount.
“There’s no sign of fenrirs,” Vesper reassured me, as I hesitated. “We’d hear them coming a mile away. They must have surprised these poor people in the night.”
I nodded. “I know.” The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to stop, but rather that I did. My back was aching. My tunic was damp with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to the bandages. My lower half was screaming at me to get off the horse and lay down, preferably for a week.
Just then we heard Draven give a shout.
I met Vesper’s eyes and slipped down from Haya’s back.
As we rounded the corner of a broken wagon, my mouth fell open.
Draven stood in the center of the caravan campsite looking down at something across from him.
A little girl sat huddled on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees, no more than five or six years old.
As we approached, she sat silently in the midst of the carnage, her eyes wide and unblinking as she looked at us.
Her skin was a rich, deep bronze. A tangle of tight black curls fell around her shoulders. Her features were delicate. A small button nose. Full cherubic cheeks that gave her a sweet and innocent appearance. She wore a tattered white dress, now covered in dust and rust-colored stains, and there were scuffed leather sandals upon her feet.
A tag was hanging around her neck from a piece of string with something written on it.
Draven was the boldest. The rest of us were too shocked to react. He strode over to the child and crouched down in front of her.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice cast low.
Silence.
“Where are your parents? Were they with you? Who brought you here, child?”
The last was a good question. Who would bring a child to such a desolate place?
There was no answer from the girl.
Draven tried again. “How did you escape the fenrirs? Did you hide? That was very clever of you.”
Silence again.
He reached carefully forward and fingered the tag around the girl’s neck. A scowl flickered over his face, then was gone.
“Odelna,” he said carefully. “Is that your name?”
The little girl was still.
“You can’t stay here, little one.” He looked over at us, his expression almost helpless. “She can’t stay here.”
Lancelet and Vesper looked too stunned to speak.
I stepped over to him, crouching beside him and tried to smile at the girl. “No, she can’t. She’ll have to come with us. Would you like that, little one?”
Draven met the girl’s eyes. “You can’t stay here. You’ll die if you do. We have food and water. We can take care of you.”
