I’d seen this earlier; I suppose it is habit from traversing the hills of Tarnec with their narrow and treacherous paths. We were strung along the Cullan foothills like beads adorning a garment, a green garment that stretched on in all directions. Sitting higher now than when I first walked this ...
Harker was grinning his nasty little grin. He popped the cap back on his head, singing under his breath, “Where are you weak, little Guardian? Where are you weak?” The tune shivered through my spine. “Seer.” I panted. “Why do you show me this?” He snorted. “You say it, but still you ask. Seer!” A...