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since the first clashing of the battle.
She didn’t know how she found his tent,
but there it was, flaps open to the night to
reveal him standing with Galan, Ansel, and
Ren.
The Lord of Allsbrook’s brows rose as she
entered, her head nearly hitting the ceiling.
A horse. She was still a horse.
Ren staggered toward her, despite the
exhaustion surely weighing down every inch
of him.
Lysandra fumbled for the thread inside her,
the thread back to her human body, the
shimmering light that would shrink her into it.
The four of them only stared as she found
it, fought for it. The magic ripped the last of
the strength from her. By the time she was
again in her own skin, she was already falling
to the hay-covered floor.
She didn’t feel the cold slam into her bare