But by the time Viserys and the others arrived, he reached out with his mental power again and found that the camp on the island was almost deserted.
Only some tents and food the Ironborn had not had time to pack remained among the trees. Many things hung askew from low branches, and weapons lay scattered across the cleared, level ground. Thin wisps of smoke still rose from the embers of the campfires, all signs that they had only just left.
As they drew closer, Viserys discovered that almost everyone had withdrawn to the longships hidden in the bay. No voices could be heard in the woods now, only the rustle of the sea wind passing through the pines.
Three longships had even sailed beyond the mouth of the bay. Their black hulls cut through the small waves as they picked up speed toward the southwest. From the look of them, they intended to head straight into the Fog Zone.
The remaining ships were scattering as well, some heading north, others south. The distance between them kept growing. There was no cohesive group at all, nor any sign that they intended to gather together.
Two other ships were still stranded on shore, their bottoms half buried in the wet sand as waves battered them again and again.
The Ironborn around them were still desperately trying to push the ships into the water. They bent low, braced their shoulders against the hulls, and inched forward through the shallows. But the two ships moved outward at an agonizing crawl, never quite clearing the shore.
Viserys ordered King Ghidorah to descend. King Ghidorah immediately drew in his wings, tilted his body slightly backward, and glided down at an angle. His enormous shadow swept over the island as he flew almost low enough to