Orvan Cendral

Orvan Cendral was an army tracker for twenty years. He read mud the way others read books: who had passed, how many they were, how much they weighed and whether they were in a hurry.

He was never wrong. That is why they put him in charge of his unit.

Twelve men and women who followed him through forests that appeared on no map, because they knew Orvan always found the way back.

One misty morning, he read a trail that should not have been there. Someone had drawn it for him.

The ambush lasted less time than it takes water to boil. When the mist lifted, Orvan was still standing. The other twelve were not.

Nobody blamed him. He did.

He left the army, left his sword behind and kept an ash staff he carved that very week. He says a staff never lets you forget to watch where you step.

He wandered for years, until one morning he found an ash feather nailed to the door of his cabin. Mara had left it.

In the Flock he does not walk in front. He walks behind. He covers everyone else's back, counts the footsteps he hears and erases the trails his own leave.

He is fifty-three years old and has only one rule: this time, nobody gets left behind.