Chapter 133: [133] When the Hunt Becomes Routine
The morning air bit at Xavier’s face as he checked Smoke’s tack for the third time. Six days since the Thornbeast attack, and his reputation had taken on a life of its own. Whispered conversations followed him through camp each morning—fragments about the Thornslayer, the man who moved with golden lightning.
"You’re preening again," Naomi observed, leading Ember past him toward the wagon train.
"I’m being a role model," Xavier replied, though he caught himself standing straighter when two guards nodded respectfully in his direction. "There’s a difference."
"Right. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with how Marta keeps staring at you like you’re some legendary hero come to life."
Xavier glanced toward the young woman in question—one of the survivors who’d taken to lingering near their section of the caravan.
"Green is not your color," he said.
Naomi snorted. "Please. I’m not jealous of a girl who thinks you walk on water. I’m concerned your ego’s going to need its own horse soon, and we can’t spare the rations."
Their banter was interrupted by Dalen’s approach. The journey had carved new lines into the caravan master’s face, deepening the map of sorrows around his eyes. He seemed to carry the weight of every lost soul in the sag of his shoulders.
"Thornslayer," Dalen said, the title rolling off his tongue like an accepted fact. "We’ve got tracks ahead. Fresh ones."
Xavier’s attention sharpened. "How many?"
"Three, maybe four Vorthaks. Moving parallel to our route." Dalen’s weathered hand gestured toward the tree line. "They’ve been shadowing us since dawn."
Naomi moved closer, her earlier teasing forgotten. "Are they hunting us?"