REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF
I was trembling all over, but I made my way into the house.
The room smelled of smoke, dust, and burnt herbs.
The candles flickered in clusters, casting shadows that danced along the wall. At the far end of the corner, seated cross-legged on a tattered rug, was a woman I presume must be the seer; her hair hung in long silver strands.
Her skin was all dirty and unkempt, and her milky eyes were staring somewhere past me, yet I felt her gaze pierce directly into my bones.
"She is blind," I thought to myself.
Bab Populer