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Wildling's Failure
“Your shoulder.” An assassin pointed as Savage’s skin seamed together over the wound. Overlapping the blood inside and then sealing over it. “How-Savage-You just-”
“How did you do that?” Wildling was unsettled. “That is devil magic!”
“Dread magic!” Another assassin whispered in a hushed voice.
“That’s how he does it.” Someone else said conspiratorially.
There were awestruck gasps and everyone was staring.
Savage didn’t glance at it. Didn’t blink.
“I can do a lot more.” He confided. Cracking his neck ominously.
Wildling glared at him a moment, face jerking, before striding from Winter’s Haven on thudding boots.
“You’re just going to let him go?” Dimurah cried. Lunging against Phalanx’s strong arms as she shouted at Savage. Her voice cracking in betrayal.
Savage skid a blue-eyed gaze at her over his shoulder.
There’ll be no consoling her. He knew.
Patience woman.
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