The sun burned overhead, its light fading and leaving the sky a bruised color in the distance where the Plaguewrought Land changed all the rules. The odor of charred flesh drifted over from the funeral pyre on the ground below. Gray smoke was all that was left of the afternoon’s dead. With luck, Slanya would return soon with the plaguegrass, and the funeral pyre could be extinguished. The elixir would stop the procession of dead and dying. “Come home, young one,” Gregor whispered to her. “Come home safe.” IW,nllŤ oAť.Ql~-l–1–-*- ” ––––’ Gregor had cared for her as if she were his own child. He had been the one to take her from the orphanage. He had been the one to choose herthe neglected and abused girl. The sole survivor of a tragic fire. It was the policy of the temple complex to take in children who could benefit from rigorous training, meditation, and adherence to a life of the religious orders. Ideal children showed great internal fortitude and strength of will.
