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Bronwen fell silent for a few steps. Manon
had just entered the ring of Glennis’s hearth
when the witch said, “We shouldn’t have
bothered to hope, then.”
Manon had no answer, so she walked away,
the Thirteen not giving Bronwen a passing
glance.
Manon found Glennis stirring the coals of
her hearth, the sacred fire in its center a bright
lick of flame that needed no wood to burn. A
gift from Brannon—a piece of Terrasen’s
queen here.
Glennis said, “We must move out by
midmorning tomorrow. It was decided: we are
to return to our home-hearths.”
Manon only sat on the rock nearest the
crone, leaving the Thirteen to scrounge up
whatever food they could find. Dorian had
remained back with the wyverns. The last
she’d seen of him minutes ago, a few