The Lunar Legacy
Her map was dusted with frost, the spire a reminder of the marrow god’s power, the valley a battlefield they’d conquered, the chill a test of their courage.
Tess sheathed her sword, her hazel eyes sharp with vigilance, her voice firm, the wind howling through the valley, the frost dusting her cloak, the spire now a dull obsidian, the valley a battlefield they’d conquered, the chill a distant threat. “Let’s go,” she said, her blonde braid catching the dim light, Dawn growling softly beside her, the frost dusting her fur, the wind a howling challenge, the pack’s unity a radiant light in the cold. “The Frostspire’s waiting.” The spire loomed above them, the valley a battlefield they’d conquered
Bab Populer