The caravan did not leave under fanfare.
There were no banners, send-off crowd or speeches about trust or hope. Just the practical, steady sound of harness leather tightening, the soft scrape of wheels against stone, and the quiet weight of people who understood that the road beyond the territory did not care who you were inside it.
The Moss-Badger guides waited at the outer threshold, broad shapes half-blended into stone and root where the tunnel opened into forest shadow.
They did not step forward until the Deepway escort formed properly—guards in flanking positions, scribes in the middle, Evan and Annika walking at the head.
The Badger leader, a thick-furred elder with moss clinging to his shoulders like an old cloak, inclined his head once.
"We walk until dusk," he said. "No detours. No challenges unless unavoidable."Evan returned the nod.
"Agreed."Annika leaned closer, voice low.
"Rules once more," she murmured—not because anyone had forgotten, but because repetition anchored nerves.
"Observe more than speak," Evan replied quietly. "No ethics debates or territory comparisons. We answer what we're asked—nothing more."
"And we let them set the pace," Annika added.
The guards listened without comment. They had already been briefed. This was not a military march. It was not an exploration run.
It was a test of whether Deepway could exist between others without provoking them.
"Did you pass along the report to the Lord, Annika?" Evan asked to reduce the unease, he was feeling.
The first stretch beyond the border felt wrong in a way Evan struggled to name.
"Yes, a message runner was dispatched from the tunnel. It should be on her table by now." Annika replied, also picking up on the tense atmosphere.
Every footfall seemed to travel too far, then vanished too quickly, seemingly swallowed whole. Birdcalls cut off mid-note, insects went silent without warning. Even the caravan's breathing felt intrusive, as if the forest were listening and deciding whether to tolerate it.
Inside the territory, the land answered. Even now—faintly—he could feel where Deepway ended, like a pressure change. But outside it, the forest felt… indifferent.
Trees rose closer together, their trunks no longer standing apart but leaning inward, branches forming a living cage. Some were straight and pale, their bark layered like peeled bone; others twisted as if they had grown around old injuries, knots bulging where branches had once torn free.
Moss clung to everything—thick emerald mats on stone, pale veils hanging from lower boughs, velvety growth creeping up boots if one stood still too long. Roots broke the surface without apology, thick as arms in places, thinner than fingers in others, turning the ground into a treacherous weave of rises and sudden hollows. Each step dipped unpredictably, slick with old leaf-rot and spongy decay, the smell rich and damp, like something half-alive.
The Moss-Badgers moved with a confidence that bordered on intimacy. They didn't clear brush so much as step where it had already decided to give way, slipping between thorned vines and bark-scaled shrubs without disturbing a leaf. Their claws found purchase on roots others would have missed; their bodies angled instinctively to avoid low branches and resinous spines. When one stopped suddenly, the rest of the caravan froze without needing a signal. Stillness passed through them like a held breath.
Annika noticed."So that's what it looks like," she murmured.
Evan nodded. "They're listening to the land."
"And the land listens back," she said. "That's… unnerving."
Small life watched them with complete disinterest. A pair of stone-dappled lizards sunned themselves on a fallen log, eyes half-lidded, tails twitching only when someone passed too close. The fat beetles with translucent wings hummed lazily above a patch of luminous fungi, bumping into one another with dull, hollow clicks. While a nest of bush-chickens in a nearby undergrowth, rustled, one chick peered over with mild curiosity before losing interest and tucking its head back under a parent's wing.
Amongst it all, threading through the forest were moments when the air seemed to press inward. Not weight exactly, but pressure—deep, slow, and directionless. It came without warning, lingered just long enough to raise the hairs on exposed skin, then receded, as if something vast had shifted far away and settled again. The Moss-Badgers did not comment. They merely adjusted their path by a few careful steps, guiding the caravan onward, deeper into the green silence.
A low chitter echoed ahead.
The Badger elder raised one hand.
No one spoke.From the undergrowth burst a pair of lean, antler-headed beasts—deer-like, but wrong in the joints, hooves cracking stone as they skidded to a halt. Their eyes were bright, unfocused. Hunger-driven, not territorial.
The Moss-Badgers did not raise weapons. They shifted. The elder stepped forward, a rune mark on his fur lit up and divine pressure rolled off him in a controlled wave. The beasts faltered, confused, skidded sideways—and bolted back into the trees.
One of Deepway's younger guards exhaled shakily."That was it?" he whispered.
Annika didn't look at him. "That was a warning."
They walked on.
Next, they passed a shallow waterhole not far off the path—a dark oval cupped in roots and smooth stones. The surface lay unnaturally still, reflecting the canopy in warped fragments. Pale reed grass grew thick around its edges, and something like silver thread drifted just beneath the water, moving against no current.
A small horned grazer stood knee-deep at one end, drinking slowly. It lifted its head once, assessed the caravan with dull eyes, then returned to the water, unconcerned.
Further on, half-hidden between leaning trunks, stood the remains of a wooden building. It might once have been a watch post or a forester's hut. The roof sagged inward, beams collapsed and furred with moss. One wall had been split by a tree that had grown straight through it, wood and bark fused together over years of neglect. No smoke, no sound. Just the quiet implication that someone had lived here once—and left.
By midday, the road narrowed into a rocky spine overlooking a shallow ravine.
Evan looked back at the way they had come and realized again how small they were. What would have taken their clan days, possibly weeks to travel, took the Moss-badgers half a day. The Elder had shown him this morning the special space rune that a shaman of their clan had engraved into the caravan that shrinks distance travelled.
Wind cut through here, cold despite the season. The Moss-Badgers paused to check footing, then waved the caravan through in staggered formation.
It was there they met the other Clan.
They appeared not from ahead—but from the side, climbing out of the ravine with practiced ease. Broad-backed figures in layered leather and bone, faces marked with pale pigment. Their leader stepped forward alone, spear grounded but not lowered.The Moss-Badger elder halted the caravan.
Introductions were formal.
Names were given. Titles acknowledged. Hierarchy observed.
The visiting Clan did not smile, although they did not scowl either.
Their leader's gaze lingered on Evan longer than was comfortable.
"You are the humans," he said eventually.
Evan inclined his head. "We are."
"From the mountain refuge," the leader continued. "The one with stone halls and water inside."
Annika's breath caught—barely. Their Clan's internal structure was already known outside.
"Yes," Evan said evenly.
There was a curious murmur among the Clan behind the leader.
"You organize quickly," the leader said. "For new ones."
Evan chose his words carefully. "Disorganization has killed in our history. We've learned."
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, the Clan leader barked a short laugh. "Good learning."
A small exchange followed—salt for dried roots, not as trade but courtesy. Hands were careful and quantities modest, but no one pressed for more.
Before parting, the leader added quietly, "Your name travels ahead of you."
Evan watched them descend back into the ravine.
"New," Annika echoed under her breath. "But structured."
Evan didn't smile—but something settled in his chest.
By dusk, the caravan made camp beneath a stone overhang, fires kept low and sentries rotated without complaint.
Evan sat with Annika, scribes quietly recording impressions nearby.
"We're being measured, again," Annika said softly.
Evan stared out into the dark. "And not found wanting. Not yet."
Somewhere beyond the firelight, the forest shifted—alive, watching, waiting.
Deepway was on the road now—
and the road was paying attention.