Sorcha moved like the wind, freed of the constraints of a more human walking speed when she left the others behind. She danced with the breeze as she went, but it was a dance with direction and deadly purpose.
For all that she could move more naturally, she still couldn’t move as fast as she’d have liked; she had to track carefully if she wanted any hope of catching signs of Myra’s passing. Those signs were few and far between, and she spent the first several hours after the separation locating the first of them. It took her so long, she’d started to fear she would find no sign at all.
Her senses were sharp though, and her intuition strong. She quickly decided Myra had not gone the same way as the Necromancer, and so she returned to the site of the ex-guide’s resurrection.
The area was as still and dead as it had been when they’d left hours before, and remained so while she searched for yet more hours to find any sign of where she’d gone. As the time passed, she had to focus her concentration against a rising tide of impatience and anxiety; Myra was as fast as she was. The longer she spent searching, the more impossibly far ahead she got.