The Living Throne (The War Of Memory Cycle Book 3) - Plot & Excerpts
The land beyond spread out in a tangle of iced-over streams, tiny ponds and slumped hills. He led them diagonally away until they could barely make out the road, then raised the Guardian's antlers and set a loping pace. Arik's pain and Fiora's distress ate at him, but they needed distance, and without Dasira they were woefully uninformed of the dangers here. By the time he slowed, the sun had begun its decline toward the west. He mounted a final bracken-covered hillock, halted, and turned to regard his friends. Red-cheeked and wide-eyed, Fiora looked up at him and said, “What now?” She appeared unharmed, but kept clenching her sword-hand as if she regretted discarding the blade. At her side, Arik peeled the scarf from his half-wolfish face, baring his teeth as the cloth stripped off fur and clotted blood. More matted his jaw and coated his throat, with speckles down his front, and he'd tucked his torn sleeve inside his robe to hide the rest of the gore. His right arm was down to a clean stump; as Cob watched, he shifted into full wolfman form and the truncated limb pushed outward, regrowing all the way to the elbow in a ripple of sinew and fur.
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