witches who had no desire to be found. And
would likely have little desire to join this war.
“We move out in five minutes.” Sorrel’s
rocky voice carried across the camp.
Convincing would have to wait, then.
Delaying it was.
Within three minutes, the fire was out and
weapons were donned, bedrolls bound to
saddles and needs seen to before the long day
of flying.
Buckling on Damaris, Dorian aimed for
Manon, the witch standing with that
preternatural stillness. Beautiful, even here in
the blasted snow, a shaggy goat pelt slung
over her shoulders. As he neared, her eyes met
his in a flash of burnt gold.
Asterin gave him a wicked grin. “Morning,
Your Majesty.”
Dorian inclined his head. “Where are we
wandering today?” He knew the casual words
lily
(lily)
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