CHAPTER 53
After two days on the trail, Penrys’s leg ached and her temper was short.
The track of the survivors was as broad as a road, and as clear. They’d passed Jirkat’s first encampment with its eloquent empty kazr circles, and gone another easy five miles before stopping and setting up their own. On the second day, they’d managed almost thirty miles.
The necessary distance between the riders with their pack-strings had kept conversation to a minimum. Even the mid-day breaks had been hurried and urgent. They’d finally passed the trail to clan Rashaban and pushed themselves another five miles beyond it before stopping.
Penrys had scanned to her limit as they rode, but five miles wasn’t far, and she’d felt hemmed in, and blind.
The best thing was the weather—it held cold, but sunny.
