Sidhr Tree

Alexandria flies on her indigo wings through a flurry, bundled in her hunting cloak, and Malik is dressed in dark wool and deerskin, his bat wings folding, lifting and flying as he and Lexa dance through the air. 

My iron skiff of eider down, Lussi’s bridal gift to me, and a quiverful of phoenix-fletched arrows from Alexandria are at my side as the prow of my boat charts its way around icebergs and snow seals. The white iron doves of Vidagol fly with metallic feathers, spawned when Elyon’s blade met Eleleth’s trident in the first of their wars. They are scrappy birds that screech like the twang of a snapping piano string, perched on the helm of my boat carved like a siren.

I toss an apple up into the air. “Catch, Malodorous!”

“Don’t call me that!” Malik shouts, but grabsit anyway, biting into the golden flesh. “Mmm, Laushtian apples, my favorite.”

“Share, you hound, you’