across the battlefield, across the world.
“PLEASE.”
She would beg, she would crawl, if it
bought him the chance to live.
Her warrior-hearted mount. Who had saved
her far more than she had ever saved him.
Who had saved her in the ways that
counted most.
“PLEASE.” She screamed it—screamed it
with every scrap of her shredded soul.
Iskra only laughed. And the bull did not let
go, even as Abraxos tried and tried to get
them closer to the ground.
Her tears ripped away in the wind, and
Manon freed the last of the buckles on her
saddle. The gap between the wyverns was
impossible, but she had been lucky before.
She didn’t care about any of it. The
Wastes, the Crochans and Ironteeth, her
crown. She didn’t care about any of it, if
lily
(lily)
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