Our canoes were where we left them, one small consolation after a steady string of disasters. The crossing was quick, though as stressful as the last. The current is strong for a river that flows in on itself. Traversing it was hard work. We didn’t have time to rest.
The Sondu have made camp south of Matasten, near the same hill from where we watched the Prince enact his ritual over the river. Thankfully Fodafa doesn’t trust the village sprawling against the river at the mouth of that bridge. We reached him as the light began to fail and gave him news of the slaughter in the north.
The bastard couldn’t help the slightest curl of a smile. I’d wager he counts it as a decrease in competitors for the throne over the loss of necessary allies.
The Sondu will send scouts into the village to sweep for traps before they move to the river. The need to take that bridge is obvious, but we cannot afford for the losses suffered by the Yatusu to be replicated here. I’m exhausted from the sprint to get here in time to deliver our warning. Fodafa hadn’t forgotten his distaste for Dionus. We’re sleeping in the trees tonight as a result.
I wouldn’t want to share his camp in any case. Once this is his kingdom, I’ll be happy to leave the whole place behind.