The World Keeps Moving

Chapter 14 - The World Keeps Moving

Far southwest of Greyhollow, the land was never truly quiet.

The land bore old scars, claw marks gouged into stone, split earth, the lingering stench of blood that time had not fully erased. Between low trees and scattered boulders, shadows moved fast, close to the ground, restless.

A creature smaller than most of its kind burst through the undergrowth, its body slick with dull mucus, its jaws spread wide.

A blade of compressed wind struck first.
It staggered the creature, forcing it off course.

“Don’t chase,” a heavy voice cut in from the front. Short. Firm.

A dwarf stood at the forefront. His feet were planted, knees slightly bent. One palm pressed against the ground.

Earth magic answered.

Not a towering wall. Just a rough rise of stone and soil, enough to halt the monster and force it to change direction. Enough to break its rhythm.

The creature snarled and leapt.

The second dwarf had already moved. Broad-bodied, heavy-footed. A faint glow wrapped his shoulders and arms as he met the leap head-on.

Impact.

The monster was hurled aside, slamming into the ground with a wet sound.

“Two on the right.”

The call came from the elven woman, bow already drawn. Wind hissed thinly as her arrow flew, forcing another creature to veer away before it could close in.

Behind them, the human shifted sideways, searching for an opening. Fire condensed in his palm, shaping itself into a short spear. He hurled it straight toward the creature’s eye.

“One down,” he said.

The second dwarf charged the remaining monster.

The final blow sent the body collapsing into the dirt, breath torn away amid dust and blood.

The creature twitched once, then went still. Dark fluid seeped into the ground, quickly swallowed by dry earth long unused to rain.

No further cries followed. No answering movement from the surrounding brush. Only heavy breathing remained, the breath of those still standing, confirming that what had just happened was truly over.

A few seconds passed before the leading dwarf raised his hand slightly, a signal to remain alert. His gaze swept the area, catching small details often missed in the chaos of battle. The forest did not respond. It chose silence.

“Clear,” the human finally said, his tone light but not relaxed.

The elven woman did not lower her bow right away. She listened longer, head tilted, before giving a brief nod.

The second dwarf let out a hard breath. “Not big monsters,” he muttered. “But why are they already this far out?”

“That’s the problem,” the human replied.

The leader knelt briefly, pressing his palm to the ground. No further tremors. He stood again without comment.

“Wounds?”

“Scratches,” the second dwarf said. “I can walk.”

The elf had already moved, cleaning blood quickly. A thin layer of magic brushed the injury, no excess light, no flourish.

They stood there a moment longer, catching their breath, waiting, making sure the forest truly intended to let them leave.

The smell of blood lingered low, mixed with churned soil and drying monster slime. Small insects approached hesitantly, then retreated again, as if unsure the area was safe.

The leader shifted half a step, eyes still scanning the treeline. In places like this, silence was rarely an ending, only a pause while something decided whether to appear or not.

Sunlight was thinning, broken by branches and high stone. Shadows stretched, making the dirt path look narrower than it truly was.

The human glanced at the sky, then back toward the route they had come from, not searching for danger, just measuring what daylight remained out of habit. In regions like this, decisions were often ruled by light, not distance on a map.

The leader walked a few steps west, studying the path as it narrowed between rocks. The human was already calculating, gaze shifting between sky and forest edge.

“If we head back to Ravenhold now,” he said at last, “we won’t make it today.”

The second dwarf snorted. “I’m not walking this place at night.”

The elf lowered her bow completely. “This area’s relatively calm,” she said. “But something feels off.”

The leader paused, looking south, toward the route that should have led them closer to the city. The light there had changed, no longer bright but not fully dim either, a phase that often made distances deceptive.

“We set camp here,” he said.

No one argued.

They moved with few words, choosing ground slightly higher than the surrounding area.

The leader checked the soil before setting anything down, tapping it with the toe of his boot. He made sure there were no soft spots beneath the surface, a habit formed from too many bad nights on unstable ground.

The second dwarf dropped his pack and sat with a short grunt. His shoulders rose and fell a few times before settling. He ran a hand along his arm guard, checking for small cracks missed during the fight.

The elf chose a position with a clear line of sight, her back against a large stone. Her bow stayed within reach, not for vigilance, simply because it felt natural there.

The human moved between the fire and their gear, handling several tasks at once without appearing rushed. His movements were easy, but his eyes kept tracking the distance between the flames and the encroaching shadows.

A small fire was lit, warm enough, bright enough, but unobtrusive. Gear was unpacked. Weapons cleaned. Minor wounds tended to.

The second dwarf leaned back against a rock, shoulders loosening. “Stragglers like that are more annoying than the big ones.”

“Because they make us careless,” the human replied while checking a bowstring.

“And this area isn’t finished yet,” the elf added flatly.

The fire crackled softly.

The leader set his shield nearby, movements neat and practiced. Once things settled, he finally spoke again.

“After this, I’m taking a detour.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “Back to the dwarven lands?”

“East-northeast first,” he answered shortly.

The second dwarf chuckled. “Greyhollow?”

There was no long explanation. Just a nod.

The elf stared into the fire. “The route still makes sense. We take the eastern path out of this forest and split at the junction.”

“And the guild report can wait,” the human added. “I could use a break before my ears start ringing from the guild hall.”

The leader did not respond. He only nodded once more. The decision had already been made.

The conversation faded.

The fire shrank. Night settled in without spectacle.
They sat where they were, letting the forest reclaim its sounds.

The leader sat slightly apart, his back against a neatly packed rucksack. His eyes followed the flames as they rose and collapsed again, slow and steady.

Greyhollow crossed his mind without effort. The name brought no faces, no voices, only the awareness of a place often passed through, rarely chosen.

He tried to recall the last time he had stopped there without business. Without reports. Without obligations. It wasn’t easy to find. There had always been reasons to postpone, missions, distance, time that felt better spent elsewhere.

He inhaled, then let the breath go.

No urgency. No pressure.
Just something that should have been done, and finally allowed space to be.

The road out of Greyhollow wasn’t empty, but it was quiet enough for the sound of wheels to carry.

Trod sat at the front, guiding the horse. He chose a route favored by small traders, not the fastest, but the clearest.

A man sat calmly behind him, a staff resting in his hand.

“We might be on the road until late,” Trod said at last.

“That’s fine,” the man replied.

They passed beyond the line of low trees. The ground changed, firmer, less traveled. Trod glanced to the side, estimating time by old habit.

“If we take this path, we save half a day,” he said.

“The risk?” the man asked.

“Depends on the weather,” Trod answered. “And who gets there first.”

The man nodded lightly, accepting the answer without further questions.

They continued on. Wind pushed dry leaves across the road, brushing the cart before drifting away.

“Should we stop before dark?” Trod asked.

“I’ll follow your lead,” the man said.

Trod didn’t ask why.
He adjusted the cart’s direction slightly, choosing a more open path. They kept moving, two figures heading toward the same destination, without needing to share the same reasons.

Greyhollow slowly fell behind them. The road ahead demanded nothing, except to be walked.

The campfire dwindled on its own.

Not because it was extinguished, but because the remaining wood was simply all there was. The small glow pulsed softly, warm enough to keep the cold at bay without pushing light too far into the dark.

Four figures sat around it.

Gear was packed. Minor wounds cleaned. Nothing more needed saying. What remained were small sounds, steady breathing, cloth shifting, the occasional crack as wood collapsed inward.

A dwarf added one last piece of wood, then stopped.

“That’s enough,” he said.

Night settled gently over the area. The forest remained alive, but distant. No further cries followed. The woods answered only with the soft return of moving leaves. Their breathing was clear now, heavy, controlled, no longer cut short by the need to act.

Before long, one by one, they leaned back, eyes closing without fully surrendering to sleep.

Elsewhere, the sound of wheels continued.

Two figures moved along a very different road.

Night wind swept through the leaves, blurring their trail.

The fire shrank.
The cart rolled on.

And between the two, the world kept moving, toward an intersection that had not yet asked to be explained.