Manon’s bow sang as she fired arrow after
arrow.
At the first spray of blue blood, some part
of her slipped away.
But she kept firing. And Abraxos kept
flying, ripping apart wing and throat with his
tail and teeth.
And so it began.
Even in the river, the thunder of marching feet
rumbled past Lysandra.
They didn’t see the large white snout that
periodically broke through the ice floes to
huff down a breath. The sky was dark now,
thick with the clashing of wyverns and
Crochans.
Bodies occasionally plunged into the river,
Ironteeth and Crochan alike.
The Crochans who thrashed, who were still
alive, Lysandra covertly carried to the far