You are reading ‘’PRIDE OF THORNES’’: A clan Fantasy Romance Novel
Northern Trade Route, Dawn
(Weeks after recent rains)
Warriors bore two cloth-covered shapes away with careful dignity at dawn. Third accident this month. The words echoed in Rowan’s mind as he surveyed the northern trade route’s edge, watching his warriors move with an efficiency they shouldn’t need.
Below, the collapsed path revealed its story in broken earth and splintered crates. Sweet rosemary scent drifted up, mingling with damp soil and the metallic tang of loss. His people salvaged what they remained, straightening their backs despite the strain etched in their faces.
Duncan materialized beside him. “Two more buyers refuse the journey.” A pause. “The Meridian perfume house threatens to seek other suppliers.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched. Years of carefully built trade relationships teetered on this treacherous path. The recent rains ravaged more than the route – they exposed how fragile their prosperity remained. Winter stores sustained the cold, not compensated for lost trade.
He traced the fresh scars where earth tore loose. The path served Clan Thorne for generations, but nature spurned tradition. Each rainfall now unleashed more slides, more losses they couldn’t afford – in coin or blood.
“The eastern section vanished,” Duncan pointed to where the path crumbled into empty air. “Even if we cleared the debris, the foundation crumbles.”
Workers extracted another crate from the wreckage. The wooden box displayed the clan’s mark – geometric patterns that belonged in noble houses, not scattered in mud.
“How many routes surveyed?”
“All possible alternatives.” Duncan’s words sagged with exhausted options. “None suits regular trade. The eastern paths narrow too much for wagons, and the western route…” He stopped, both knowing that path cut through Ravencroft territory.
Below, more workers gathered, their faces darkened with understanding. They embodied Clan Thorne – they endured. But pride wouldn’t feed children or preserve alliances.
Rowan turned from the ruined path, his decision crystallizing like steel in winter. “Send word to the council.” He glared at the collapse that imperiled everything. “We need alternatives. Now.”
The sun pierced through as he strode away, casting long shadows across the broken ground. The cloth-covered shapes vanished from view, but their presence haunted him. No more. Whatever price they paid, he would not watch his people fade into shadows.
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