Sylvanna hovered at the boundary where lantern-light surrendered to fog, arms folded tight across her ribs as though she could cage the jagged flutter of her pulse. Damp air licked her face, tasting of woodsmoke and nerves. Inside the ring of tents, cook fires guttered in shallow pits, their embers pulsing like watchful eyes. Every snap of burning resin punctuated another whisper.
"She's like Virellionn," a sentry muttered, voice pitched just above the creak of leather straps.
"Storm-bearer… or storm-bringer?" answered another, words dissolving as soon as they left his mouth.
