fought and could not get free—
Manon looked for any of the Thirteen, for
anyone to save them. Save him.
He who mattered more than any other,
whom she would trade places with if the
Three-Faced Goddess allowed it, to have her
own throat gripped in those terrible jaws—
But the Thirteen had been scattered, Iskra’s
coven plowing their ranks apart. Asterin and
Iskra’s Second were claw-to-claw as their
wyverns locked talons and plunged toward the
battlefield.
Manon gauged the distance to Iskra’s bull,
to the jaws around the neck. Weighed the
strength of the straps on the reins. If she could
swing down, if she was lucky, she might be
able to slash at the bull’s throat, just enough
to pry him off—
But Abraxos’s wings faltered. His tail,
trying so valiantly to strike the bull, began to
lily
(lily)
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