I am writing this five days after we left the inn.
We have been moving south since then.
Faster than before.
Lighter.
There are seven of us now.
I did not notice the number when we departed.
Only later did it begin to feel small.
Something happened this afternoon.
I am writing because I do not understand it.
Not in a way that feels settled.
When I try to remember it,
it does not hold its shape.
The caravan stopped.
Without warning.
Then noise.
Voices.
Too many.
Too close.
Before I could ask,
Ryn was already in front of me.
The dagger was in her hand.
I did not see her draw it.
She did not look back.
There were shouts outside.
Footsteps.
Metal striking metal.
I moved closer to the opening.
Only enough to see.
There were people.
Not ours.
Moving too quickly to follow.
I remember trying to understand what I was looking at.
I did not have time.
Then I saw Caravan Master.
Someone was behind him.
A blade raised.
Close enough that it should have already happened.
Something in my chest stopped.
I think I tried to shout.
But before the sound reached anything—
The man was already on the ground.
Caravan Master stood over him.
The cutlass held just beneath his face.
I did not see how it changed.
Only that it had.
I looked back at Ryn.
Her stance had not shifted.
Calm.
Focused.
No hesitation.
Then movement again.
Someone running toward us.
Weapon raised.
After that—
Fragments.
My hands moving.
Without asking me.
Reaching into my bag.
Ink.
A quill.
Loose pages.
And then—
my coin pouch.
I threw them.
Without looking.
Without aiming.
My eyes were closed.
When I opened them—
He was on the ground.
His face black with ink.
Paper scattered across the dirt.
Coins everywhere.
Gold.
Silver.
Copper.
All of it.
I do not know what caused it.
I do not know if it was me.
Ryn was looking at me.
“…wow.”
That is what she said.
The noise outside ended quickly.
When I looked again,
the crew were already brushing dust from their clothes.
Their movements were relaxed.
No one was shouting.
No one was chasing anyone.
The people who attacked us were gone.
As if the moment had already finished.
I saw Caravan Master again.
He was helping the man he had struck to stand.
Speaking to him.
Quietly.
I looked down.
My hands were shaking.
I had not noticed before.
Ryn lowered her dagger.
A small smile.
“Aim faster next time.”
As if it had been something simple.
Later,
I gathered the coins.
One by one.
From the dirt.
From beneath the paper.
From the ink.
I should not have done that.
The thought came after.
Not during.
Ryn crouched beside me.
She picked up a gold coin.
Looked at it for a moment.
“Effective.”
Then she placed it back into my hand.
Only later did I understand what had happened.
We were attacked.
Not by bandits.
That is what Ryn told me.
After.
They were from near the Giant Crossing.
Their homes had been lost
when the vault was born.
A small group.
The ones who remained.
This was how they continued.
I try to place the moment into memory.
But it does not stay.
It feels like something I watched.
Not something I was inside.
Something that ended
before it could become real.
We continued moving before sunset.
No one spoke much about it.
The road has not changed.
But I am beginning to understand
that some things that happen upon it
do not remain long enough
to be fully seen.
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