![]() ![]() Outside, the sun rose on the white-shrouded world of a winter come too early, dazzling my eyes. I dressed in splendid garments the Amaranthines had given me, rich with color and proven against the cold. While I tried to convince myself it had been a nightmare, I opened a trunk, pawing through it for clothes. A full night’s sleep tasted sour on my tongue. I could see my tent, smell the air drowsy with the last traces of dream-resin. I forced a breath for another small, helpless whimper. It was coming, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.Ī low, wavering wail sounded-me, mewling and weak. The storm forced me to watch as it moved east. A weight pressed my chest, denying me breath. The storm pinned down my arms and legs as it grew larger, larger, impossible as it swelled, hundreds of miles wide. Half-awake, half-dreaming, I opened my eyes, but all I saw was the vision. I watched a vast, many-armed spiral of clouds from the highest reaches of the sky. Fourteen days after Miles, Tristan, and I broke the aether network, I dreamed the Cauldron brewed a storm. ![]()
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