#Chapter 53: Rogue Camp

Evelyn The rogue camp was hazy and thick with a scent like blood and smoke. The smell was heavy, coating everything as I passed through. I nearly choked on it the deeper I got into the rogue encampment. The scent of smoke was not the clean kind either. Instead, it was like burning wood in winter. There was a destructive nature to it. This was the kind of smoke that lingered in your clothes, the kind that told you something feral lived beneath the surface as it hazed up the surrounding forest, blurring my visibility. It smelled like it had destroyed something and reduced it proudly to cinders. I kept my shoulders square as I rode in, posture straight, every sense on high alert, even though my heart had begun to race fiercely the deeper I traveled. Eventually, tents appeared and began to dot the ground around the trees. They were small and constructed from old fabric and tarps. The tents were pitiful living quarters, made worse by the ever-present smoke that lingered above