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went into Eyllwe, what would they do? Manon
barely heard as the debate raged, Glennis
letting each of the seven ruling hearths arrive
at its own decision.
Manon didn’t linger to hear what they
chose. Didn’t bother to ask them to fly
northward.
Asterin stalked to Manon’s side, offering
her a strip of dried rabbit while the Thirteen
ate, the Crochans continuing their quiet
debates. The wind sang through the trees,
hollow and keening.
“Where do we go at dawn?” Asterin asked.
“Do we follow them, or head northward?”
Did they cling to this increasingly futile
quest to win them over, or did they abandon
it?
Manon studied her bleeding, aching hands,
the iron nails crusted with dirt.
“I am a Crochan,” she said. “And I am an