The group followed the arrow for about seven minutes.
The path it chose was tense but controlled, winding through trees without dropping into the lower mist. The floating steel arrow stayed ahead of them at a steady distance, never too far, never so close that someone could grab it. Edith kept watching the terrain instead of staring only at the arrow.
If this was a trap, the trap would not be the arrow. It would be where the arrow led. But the route remained reasonable: firm roots, better sightlines, fewer hollow logs, fewer reflective stones. Whoever guided it knew what to avoid.
Eventually, they reached a small clearing surrounded by thick trunks and low brush.
Edith raised her hand, stopping the group before they stepped fully into the open. She studied the clearing carefully. No bodies. No obvious disturbed soil. No false markings. No low mist thick enough to hide Glassmaws. The branches above were dense but not completely closed. There was space for an archer.
