Warm, thick night air filled his lungs, insects chirruped, underbrush clung to his legs, leaves swept dryly underfoot, moonlight cast its blue-edged glow on the tall trees. Taking calming breaths, Hable reached for the trees, past them, his bare arm catching upon a small, sharp protrusion where a branch may once have grown and been broken. He
swung his leg forward
planted his foot
Cold air buffeted his face, sweet with autumn. The angle of moonlight had changed, and its crescent strength illuminated little of the forest. The trees were larger, older, farther apart, footing rocky and soft with moss, sloping down toward pinprick lights of a distant city. Hable’s heart pounded in his chest as he wrapped his arm with a bandage. It was the same destination. He had worried. The cache was undisturbed, though his cloak had suffered in the years of disuse. He would appear to be a vagabond. A possible advantage, for now. He flung the heavy brown fabric over his shoulders. The road was a short distance away.