Lazily, she rolled over onto her back, aware of a pleasant sense of well-being and opened her eyes to look up at an azure sky through the lace-like leaves of the mighty beech tree that soared above her. The little bird continued its diatribe, chasing the last remnants of sleep away like a morning mist and she tucked her hands behind her head and watched, with dreamy detachment, the soft play of the dappled sunlight through the leaves as they trembled in the faintest breath of air. The camp fire had died down and was now merely sending up a tendril of smoke that drifted indecisively in the calm air, scenting the glade with the delightfully bitter-sweet smell of wood smoke. Her companions were no more than five shapeless huddles under their blankets and as no one showed even the slightest tendency to stir, Sareth, shifting her position slightly so that the warmth of the sun fell directly on her face, lay contentedly letting her mind drift as effortlessly as the wood smoke. It seemed almost impossible that it was only yesterday that they had been deep underground in the darkness and cold of the ice tunnels.
What do You think about The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2)?
