The Howling Throne
"What is it?"
Rael hesitated before shaking his head. "It’s nothing."
A lie, but he wasn’t sure how to explain the unease still crawling through his bones.
Elior, to his credit, didn’t push.
They set up a small camp, keeping the fire low to avoid unwanted attention. Myrra dozed quickly, exhausted from the whispers that had plagued her earlier. Bram leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his breathing evening out.
Rael turned the book over in his hands. The pages were old, yet they felt strangely untouched by time. He skimmed the words once more.
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