Sol waited until the chaotic wave of shouting youths had crashed through the gate before he made his move.
He simply stepped forward, his feet barely making any sound on the packed earth and slipped through the heavy wooden gates.
The transition was instant. The moment he crossed the threshold of the palisade, the cheering of the crowd faded, replaced by a sound that was far more unnerving.
Shhh-thhh-shhh.
The Savannah of Whisper-Grass.
It stretched out before him like a golden ocean, waving under the midday sun. The grass here was tall… reaching up to his chest… and the blades were serrated, edged with microscopic silica teeth that could slice exposed skin if one moved too carelessly against the grain. Even without wind, the friction of the blades rubbing together created a constant, metallic hissing sound.
Sol stopped ten paces in, letting the heavy wooden gates groan shut behind him.
