The Black Wolf
I nodded slowly, realizing what his answer truly meant: the Living Book wasn't here.
Whether he didn’t trust me, or the danger was too great to carry it along, I didn’t know. But I stopped searching. Instead, I buried myself in the small cube Zevarion had gifted me, fingers working it restlessly as I tried to anchor my thoughts in the memory of his warmth, his arms, his voice.
Each night grew colder. Each morning, darker.
And then, on the eleventh day, just as the book had warned, we reached it. The horses slowed, snorting uneasily. Even the wind stilled, as though the very earth held its breath.
Chapitres populaires