The Map and the Storm

He shoves the weathered scroll case against Grimlock's chest with trembling hands, ignoring the dire wolf's low snarl. Sand scrapes over the rocks as the storm thickens behind him.

He points at the horizon. In the dust, dark forms begin to gather and twist, half-seen, then gone, then nearer. Grimlock's grip tightens around his weapons as the pass narrows around them.

The wolf shifts in front of Grimlock, braced and ready. The merchant swallows hard, eyes darting between beast and storm, clearly wanting the bargain to land before the danger does.

The scroll case is warm in Grimlock's hands. The moving shapes in the sandstorm close by another breath.

Grimlock snaps the scroll case open just enough to work, then tucks it into a shallow crack behind a slab of shale. Sand skitters over the spot at once, half-hiding the weathered edge.

The dire wolf lunges past his leg and claws at the loose stones, digging with furious, sure strokes. Shale spills outward, then collapses inward over the concealed case.

The Lead Merchant flinches at the scraping, then blinks at the gap where the case was. His hand hovers uselessly in the air.

Grimlock’s fingers press the last stones into place. The crack looks like nothing now, only another ugly wrinkle in the pass.

Above them, the storm’s dark shapes twist closer, and a cold gust drives grit across the path like warning claws.