beyond them dried grasses spread in the last
of Fenharrow’s northernmost plains.
Falkan soared toward the shore, checking
his speed so he didn’t lose them.
Kadara kept pace with them easily, and
they flew in silence as the coast grew clearer.
The grasses on the plains weren’t winter-
dried. They’d been burned. And the trees,
barren of leaves, were little more than husks.
On the horizon, plumes of smoke stained
the winter sky. Too many and too great to be
farmers scorching the last of the crops to
fertilize the soil.
Nesryn signaled to Sartaq, I’m taking a
closer look.
The prince signaled back, Skim the clouds,
but don’t get below them.
Nesryn nodded, and she and her ruk
disappeared into the thin bottom layer of the
clouds. Through occasional gaps, glimpses of
lily
(lily)
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