Two days out of the city, there were no longer any Eerie things worth mentioning on the road. Occasionally, Gray-White Text would still pop up with one or two low-level prompts, but they were deep in the woods, and the vehicles were protected by an array. With such a large group traveling together, weak things did not dare approach.
The farther east they went, the quieter it became.
At night, Sandworm Oil Lamps were lit one by one. Their pale white glow enveloped the entire convoy, and even the horses seemed more at ease. The light illuminated every crack between the gravel on the road. Occasionally, shadows flickered in the distance, only to circle wide around them and vanish.
Other than the inn on the first day, they had encountered nothing at all for the rest of the day.
At the edge of his vision, Gray-White Text quietly displayed a line of numbers.
[Sanity: 113/140]
It had still been 89 on the day they left the city. With rest along the way, along with Margaret's long-lasting medicine secretly sustaining him, the number had gradually risen over the past two days. The fogginess in his mind had completely dispersed, and that sluggish, half-beat-late feeling whenever something happened on the road was gone. His whole body felt much lighter.
The wound on Dunn's right arm had scabbed over. His bandages had been changed twice, and it was no longer bleeding. The boy sat on the carriage bed and occasionally raised a hand to touch the hard, shell-like scab, only for Boer to smack the back of his hand.
"Don't pick at it."
Dunn withdrew his hand without a word.
The residents in the convoy had relaxed considerably as well. The deathly stillness from their first day out of the city