The Shrouded Game    

Dawnfire scoffed, eyeing Horizon's undead with a mix of wariness and disgust. Damon, David, and Ford—all reanimated and staring back at them with blank, lifeless eyes—stood like grim sentinels by the tent entrance.

"They're . . . unsettling. And to be honest, they stink. If you're going to do your ritual or whatever it is, could you at least command them to stay outside the tent? Kind of hard to relax with these guys hovering over us."

Horizon raised an eyebrow but gave a slight nod. Without a word, he signaled his undead to move back. It was a trivial matter, not worth arguing over. If it would keep them quiet, then so be it.

The three minions shuffled back, moving out of the tent and standing just beyond its entrance, their watchful gazes still fixed on the group.

As soon as they were outside, Velvet let out a sigh of relief, shooting Horizon a wary look. "I still don't trust him," she murmured.