Cerys turned her head slightly, her gaze falling upon the figures beyond the crack once more. For a brief moment, she considered ignoring them completely. Her young master had already walked ahead, and she knew very well what he wanted now.
Rest.
Peace.
Silence.
Those were rare things for someone like him.
She did not wish to delay him any further.
Still, the voices had called her out directly, and their tone carried urgency that did not feel trivial. With a quiet breath, she stopped walking and allowed Clay to continue ahead.
He did not even look back.
As expected.
Her eyes softened for a moment before returning to the crack.
"What?"
Her voice was calm.
Cold.
The Warchiefs did not answer immediately.
For beings who commanded entire tribes, their hesitation was almost strange. Their silhouettes shifted behind the unstable boundary, their gazes flickering between one another as if silently urging someone else to speak first.
Cerys narrowed her eyes.
"Speak."
