To say the camp shook at the roar would be to downplay its magnitude. The entire forest shook from the thundering call of a dragon, the most grizzled among us being the first to duck into holes and bushes. It was a useless action: if a dragon were really looking for us, no castle, any hundreds of miles of soldiers wouldn't stop it, let alone a mere hole in the ground, a pitiful shadow under a plant. But still we all scrambled for safety in any form we could get it, desperate to cling onto anything, even if it was just dust in the wind.

And soon after we felt the rushing, booming waves of air left by its wings as it rocketed overhead, branches breaking and shrubs uprooting from the sheer force of its wingbeats. There were those insane enough to study these primeval creatures, that might be able to tell us what kind it was simply by hearing it, but any of those psychos wouldn't have lasted two days into our months long trek.

Only when we were absolutely sure it had passed, waiting for even the leaves rustling in the wind to still, did even one of us stand up, slowly signaling the rest of the camp that it was okay to resume. The camp, of course, was gone. You couldn't even tell it existed in the first place - our tarps and tents and fire likely weren't even in the forest anymore. That's why everything we wanted to keep, we kept bolted down, hastily picking up everything we could before continuing.

It wasn't much further now. We'd gone from the edge of the world, caked in ruin and choked by dust, for this one journey. Just a few more days. Just a leap away from safety.