Fate's Forge

Chapter 2

Mathen Cutter's boots crunched on the frosted leaves as he strode through Silverwood Copse, his breath forming misty clouds in the chilly aibut He didn't like how the frost had lingered all Spring and wondered how a mild Summer might bode for them come Fall.

The encampment buzzed with activity around him, the clanging of pots and the murmur of voices blending into a symphony of preparedness. Wagons were being loaded, children chased each other between the carts, and the smell of wood smoke hung heavy in the forest.

"Late in the season, isn't it, Mathen?" called Ovelia, her hands busy securing a canvas over a wagon full of supplies.

"Too late," Mathen replied, his voice edged with worry. "The Eastern Wastes are unforgiving during fall. Early snows could trap us, and game will be scarce. Leaving this late would be a mistake I fear."

Ovelia nodded, sharing a glance with her husband, Bram, who tightened the reins on their oxen. They trusted Mathen; his strength and compassion had steered them right before. But fear of the encroaching war was a powerful adversary.

"War waits for no one," Bram said, his face etched with lines of concern. "We've got to take our chances. The hand carts took longer to build than we expected, it couldn't be helped. But if we wait for next spring we may find ourselves trapped in a warzone."

Mathen sighed, a frown creasing his brow. He reached up to touch Seer, the fieles crest hanging around his neck, its intricate carvings cool against his fingertips. Closing his eyes, he sought counsel from the magical token.

Images flooded his mind-terrifying glimpses of blizzards that howled like ancient spirits, a land grasped in winter's cruel fist, and snow blanketing what remained of their hope. A vision seared into his consciousness: the wagons, mere shapes beneath a shroud of white in a narrow mountain pass. He also saw possible futures with the company destroyed by war. Two terrible possibilities.

"Pick your poison," Seer whispered to his mind. "I honestly can't see a way out for any of these people."

"Seer shows darkness ahead," Mathen murmured, opening his eyes to meet the worried gazes of his wife Alix and son Jas. Alix's green eyes mirrored the forest's depth, while worry pinched her features. Jas stood tall beside her, the sunlight catching his blonde hair, his expression hardening with resolve.

"Father, we can't hide from fate," Jas said, his voice firm. "If Seer's visions come true, we'll face them together."

"Jas is right," Alix added, her voice soft but strong. "We stand with you, Mathen. We all do."

The people of the wagon train watched Mathen, waiting for his guidance. His heart weighed heavy with the responsibility for their lives, yet buoyed by their trust.

"Then we'll move forward, but cautiously," Mathen announced, his voice carrying across the camp. "Double-check your provisions. Wrap your little ones in extra blankets. We must look out for each other as kin."

A determined murmur rippled through the crowd. Families began to huddle closer, sharing whispered words of encouragement. Children looked up at their parents with wide eyes full of trust, and the elderly wrapped their cloaks tighter, steeling themselves for the journey.

"Let's make every moment count," Mathen added, a smile flickering on his lips despite the dread in his heart. "For we journey not only into the Eastern Wastes but into the very heart of hope itself."

"You're going to need more food and supplies, and some of those handcarts won't last, those families will need something sturdier," Seer warned.

"Ovelia, Bram," Mathen called out, catching the attention of two figures who were busily tying down supplies on their handcart. "Gather a few others. We need more supplies-food, warm clothing, anything that can be spared. And wagons, sturdy ones."