Juna ran the valley like she had been born in it, reading the dark through her nose while Hajin matched her pace three steps behind.
The tower stood a mile up the throat of the valley, and the bell had gone silent after the third ring, which was either very good news or the other kind. Wind carried the answer down to them halfway there, blood over torn earth with something sour underneath.
Juna's stride flattened into a hunting gait without a word passing between them.
The tower clearing opened around a wreck of splintered fencing and collapsed ground, lit by a single lamp still swinging from the watchtower rail.
Trenches of thrown soil crossed the clearing in long ragged lines, dug fast and left wide open, because whatever made them had stopped bothering to hide. Three older trap pits along the treeline had been sprung flat before the party ever arrived.
