The boys had never heard of forest discipline and it showed. They were loud, uncautious and most disturbing of all, ignorant of the forest’s dangers. Logan knew that there were no Hellspawn in the immediate vicinity, yet for these three lambs, there were dangers aplenty. Several times, Zeke had had to warn them of the dangers of venomous shrubbery, but his mode of doing so was, to them, in another language. Rather than jerk his head as he would to Logan, he would sprinkle his bodily fluids in their path, effectively herding them in the right direction as none dared step in the reeking urine and soil their fresh clothing.
Logan found himself enjoying the company, despite staying far ahead of them. It was far more interesting to watch them from afar - how they tumbled and struggled with their unnecessarily heavy packs and how they would jump at every sound of the forest. It was bemusing, if not educational. They were well trained in the discipline of battle, but their skills of survival were severely lacking. For one, not one of them had packed a rifle - a brave move for a young warrior, but as much was typical for young, testosterone-fueled men.
He waited for them further up ahead, leaning on a tree to cool off in the shade. The three were next to exhausted when they finally caught up with him and fell to their backsides in the thick grass and to Logan’s delight, Zeke’s long tongue was dry from his constant heaving for breath. Even he was being challenged.
Logan didn’t say a word, he just watched them unholster their flasks and drain down the contents in single gulps - yet more rookie mistakes they would surely learn from.
“How would you evaluate your journey so far?” Logan asked the three in an open question. Despite being knackered beyond their training in the stairs, they were still in good humors and glanced at one-another to make sure they were on the same page.
Marcel raised a thumb towards the Ghast and said: “I’d say we’re doing all right. You never told us where we’re going - is it far?” There was such a thing as being too self-critical. This was not it.
Logan chuckled and pointed a thumb behind his back. “An hour or so that way and we’ll make camp. I stopped to warn you that this is as far as Anza raijon goes. Beyond this tree, you’ll have to be alert. If I give you the signal, you drop down on your stomachs and you stay there until I or Zeke tell you otherwise. Is that understood?” He spoke with an authority the boys had not heard from the usually bemused Ghast. It added to the sense of realism - that they were, in fact, in dangerous territory. The trio tapped their chests in salutes, nodding - their eyes filling with determination.
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They continued on in silence, or at least as silently as the boys could be. Even at the best of their abilities, they still cracked branches and rustled leaves with every step, but it was a step in the right direction. The only one who seemed any proficient in the art of subtlety was the one ironically wearing the shield - Marcel, which Logan surmised would serve him well when the time came for him to learn how to reach it. As it were, he doubted he could get his hands on it, even if he put his backpack down, it’d still be tightly wrapped in straps, which only added to the absurdity of their packing.
“We’ve got work to do, old boy.” Logan whispered to his fiery red companion who was all too eager to return his comment with a strict frown and a worried pair of brows.
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Logan sat atop a familiar stone as his conscripts rustled their packs loudly - unpacking the tent and arguing loudly about the support-sticks. Next to the Ghast, Zeke lay on his stomach; by far the most exhausted member of their crowd, as he had spent a substantial amount of his energy worrying about their perimeter while keeping the boys from killing themselves.
Even in his stupor, he still felt it - that shift of something in his partner’s aura. But Logan had felt it too - another attack was coming and this one was going to be rough.
When they had first struck, the prodromal stage had been a faint whistling that had grown louder and louder until he fell unconscious. The imagery in his head had been faint - the sounds had been murmurs. But as time had gone by, the whistling had been replaced by loud, muffled screams; screams that terminated in horrific visions of the same, mysterious Behemoth. It had driven him to the brink of insanity and only by obeying the request - the unspoken order concealed within the scream, had he felt a semblance of rest. It had brought him there, to that very corner of the woods of cradle.
But this one - this was different… it was frantic. Panicked, even. The screaming did not come as it usually did - not sneaking nor slowly; it had come upon him almost immediately.
“Is that them, Logan? Is that the Hellspawn?” Logan looked up from his lap to see the boys staring in his direction. He turned to look at Zeke to find him staring to the south - towards the sea.
“You can hear that?”