The forest no longer roared. No cries, no fire, no abomination lurching from the shadow of trees—just the soft, rhythmic crunch of paw against soil, and the swaying of branches overhead, gently stirred by the early breeze. After the infernal night they had endured, it was no surprise that many of the knights, still upright on their saddles or slumped within their carriages, had succumbed to sleep.
But how were they still moving?
The secret lay in the caravan's formation. The tigers—massive, disciplined beasts, their muscles honed and trained not only for speed and endurance but also coordination—were bred to follow the leader. As long as the tiger at the very front maintained direction, the rest would fall in line without instruction. And that tiger, naturally, was the one ridden by Commander Valerie.
