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built. What Adarlan had become.
No wyverns circled in the skies, but their
roars and shrieks echoed from the pass as he
strode for the ancient gates that opened into
the mountain itself. Behind him, led by a
chain, Asterin’s blue mare followed.
Another trainer bringing back his mount
after a trip for some air. The few guards—
mortal men—at the gates barely blinked as he
appeared around a rocky bend.
Dorian’s palms turned sweaty within his
gloves. He prayed the shifting held.
He would have no way of knowing, though
he supposed few here would recognize his
natural face. He’d picked coloring close
enough to his own that should the tapestry
within himself unravel, someone might
dismiss the altering of his skin tone, his eyes,
as a trick of the light.
Narene huffed, yanking on the reins. Not