The shadows stretched long across the damp ground, their edges blurred by faint mist curling at the tree line. Leaves crackled occasionally, loud against the heavy quiet, but Taryn dismissed the sound with a clenched jaw.
She stood near the center of the clearing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, scanning the uneven stakes jutting from the earth. Each imperfection—a sagging trap, a crooked rope—felt personal, like the clearing itself conspired to frustrate her.
"Those need to be tighter," she snapped, pointing toward the traps near the tree line, where damp soil caused several stakes to lean. "If more than one of those things gets through, we'll be dead before we have a blade in our hands."
Kah'el was already moving, crouching near the traps with calm efficiency. His green eyes flicked over the stakes as his fingers pressed into the soil. He didn't speak, his precision making her sharp words unnecessary.