The soft rumble of wheels over dirt and grass had become a comfortable rhythm, broken only by the occasional rustle of trees or the call of distant animals. The stream beside them sang its constant song, winding gently through the terrain. It had been an hour or two since their last stop, and Luke's eyes had been quietly scanning the right-hand side, watching the terrain shift.
And then he saw it.
"There," he muttered, gently tugging the reins and nudging Ilyrana, who had been reading something from her notebook. "See that break up ahead?"
She followed his gaze and nodded. Just beyond a bend, the stream widened slightly but shallowed considerably. The bed was made not of jagged rock or slick mud, but of tightly packed pebbles—rounded river stones that glistened under the filtered sunlight. A ford.
