shields wobbling around them. Rowan
shattered them with half a thought, his magic
tearing the air from their lungs, their blood.
They went down a heartbeat later.
Sentries shouted from the trees, orders of
“Sound the alarm!” ringing out.
But Rowan was already running. And the
sentries in the trees, their shouts lingering on
the wind as they gasped for breath, were
already dead.
The sky slowly bled toward dawn.
Standing at the edge of the forest that
bordered the eastern side of the camp, a good
two miles of rolling, grassy hills between him
and the edge of the army, Lorcan monitored
the stirring troops.
Gavriel had already shifted, and the
mountain lion now paced near the tree line,
waiting for the signal.