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He sat on a fallen, moss-covered log,
gnawing on the strip of dried rabbit. His
dinner.
“My head pounds on your behalf, just
watching you try so hard,” Glennis said from
across the clearing. Around them, the Thirteen
ate in silence, Manon monitoring all. The
Crochans sat amongst them, at least. Quietly,
but they sat there.
Which meant they all looked at him now.
Dorian lowered the strip of tough meat and
inclined his head to the crone. “My head is
pounding enough for both of us, I think.”
“What are you trying to turn into, exactly?
Or who?”
The opposite of what he was. The opposite
of the man who’d overlooked Sorscha’s
presence for years. And offered her only death
in the end. He’d be glad to let go of it, if only
the magic would allow him.