The sound of the fire had changed.
When they first set the bank alight, the flames had caught in scattered patches along the water's edge. The crackling came in bursts as one section ignited, then another.
Now the burn had linked together into a continuous front.
A low roar rolled behind them without interruption. Dense smoke hung at shoulder height, drifting across the water in slow bands that refused to break apart.
Süke stood at the edge of the burned bank with his saber drawn. The cut on his left forearm had stopped bleeding heavily, but it had not closed. Each small movement tugged at the wound. His soaked coat weighed on him, making every shift of posture harder than it should have been.
Two meters to his right, Köge stood on firmer ground near the bank. He had barely moved since the arban reformed. His attention remained fixed on a single section of unburned willow ahead.
While everything else had changed, that patch of green still held it.
