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as they aimed for the large, ringed fire pit.
The largest of the camp, and located in its
heart. Glennis’s hearth.
The crone stood before it, warming her
gnarled, bloodied hands. Dorian sat nearby,
and his sapphire eyes were indeed damning as
he met Manon’s stare.
Later. That conversation would come later.
Manon halted a few feet away from
Glennis, the Thirteen falling into rank at the
outskirts of the fire, surveying the five tents
around it, the cauldron bubbling at its center.
Behind them, Crochans continued their repairs
and healing—and kept one eye upon them all.
“Eat something,” Glennis said, gesturing to
the bubbling cauldron. To what smelled like
goat stew.
Manon didn’t bother objecting before she
obeyed, gathering one of the small
earthenware bowls beside the fire. Another