Where Wild Things Roam
I think we both know the Horned God won’t view mere searching as fulfilling our covenant’s terms and that doesn’t solve the issue of the talisman—I think it’s what’s meant to kill me and it isn’t going to be slowly.
Oh. Inside, my wolf half eyes the fae artifact, paces around it in a slow circle, nudging at it some more. Well, then, what’s this Strategos thing good for? It’s old too. It must know something useful.
As if the mere mention grants it control, Strategos pushes each other consciousness aside. The ground drops out from beneath me, then my sight’s hurtling over a vast distance, invisible, flying—as if sylphid. I have barely a second to shake the staggering vertigo when I stop abrupt
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