If the reports had been anything but so alarming, Raven might have found the trek into the mountains to find the village almost nostalgic. The trees were not quite the same, nor the way that the fog settled, nor even the scent of the air, but if he allowed his gaze to unfocus for half a moment he could have pretended that he was in a Lycia that existed only in his memory, chasing a different red-haird figure up a mountain path.
“If you don’t slow down, you might fall and hurt yourself, or worse.” The warnings were for naught, as the boy would have charged ahead and ignored him regardless, he suspected - but it was fine, in the end. His stride was longer and stronger, and no matter the boy’s determination to get himself lost just as much as the previous expeditions had, Raven was too watchful a chaperone to allow it.
“Careful,” he repeated, and the smell had truly begun to set in at this point, and Raven nearly gagged at it, a wrinkle forming in the bridge of his nose. The scent was nearly familiar, something that could have nestled itself in his memory if he allowed it, but in what manner he could not quite put his finger on.
He didn’t comment when the boy came to his side, simply glanced down for what little reassurance the commiseration could provide, and slowed his pace. A hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword, and his steps grew more cautious.
The stone was neatly kept enough to imply that there was a community within the walls, but his mind screamed at the dissonance, the suffocating silence. He wasn’t sure what he might have expected when they arrived, but the eerie quiet dampened and swallowed by fog wasn’t it.
“There’s…” A frown, beetling his brow. “No one here. This is the only place for…miles.”
His boots hit the cobbled stone path - as well kept as the walls - and from his right, a distance incalculable, he heard the sound of a pebble dancing across the street. Raven stiffened, narrowed his eyes.
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