At the head of the column of lords, knights, squires, and hunters, the lead handler's tracking hound finally found what it had been searching for.
The change was subtle enough that most of the riders in the column missed it entirely, but Erling's eyes were on the dog the moment its body language shifted. One heartbeat, the hound was working the trail with the steady, methodical patience of an experienced tracker, nose sweeping back and forth across the fern-covered ground. The next, it went rigid, every muscle in its lean body pulling taut against the long leather leash as its nose locked onto a single point in the earth.
Its tail stiffened. Its ears pressed forward. And then it moved, not with the wandering uncertainty of a dog following a cold trail, but with the absolute conviction of an animal that knew exactly where its quarry had walked and just how recently it had passed by.
