Wind slid through the pines. Three wagons, canvas tight. Dummies seated. Proctors flagged the trail and read the rules: crosswinds live, sound lures live, light use penalized, unsafe discharges fail.
"Team Valcrey," Pierce called.
"Here," I said. Gareth took left, Pelham right, Lyra walked the civilians, Rooke the tool box. I took front.
"Left flank watches ground," I said. "Right watches wheels. Lyra, keep order. Rooke, tell me if anything hums wrong. If I say 'low knees,' sink and ride it."
We rolled into shade. I sent Hollow up for a short circle, tight leash. He clicked once: crossflow ahead. I raised my hand for slow. Gareth built a small dirt lip to guide a wheel over a rut. Lyra counted rows without breaking stride. Pelham kept to the rope lines and found one loose knot. He fixed it, jaw set.
A sound lure cried on the right fork. The left climbed quiet. "Left," I said. We took the hill.
