The Burning Forest crackled and spit overhead, it’s smokeless, ever-burning leaves showering those who rode beneath them with flecks of glowing cinders. A swell of air rolled through the caravan, compounding the already sweltering heat and filling their nostrils with the scent of char.
A wagon groaned down the line, drawing Surr's gaze back along the caravan of leather-cloaked riders to where the driver coughed into his mask. Noticing his lord’s attention, the man lifted a hand to wave at Surr: it was nothing. He turned back to the front, grabbing the edges of his leather coat and adjusting it to cover the paper sword belted at his hip
The wagons behind him carried several thousand pounds of khamut grain, papyrus and ivory: their quarterly tithes to the crown. One of the wagons a