Mottle put her mouth against Widow's Needle and heard herself inside the stone.
A copied landing cough traveled down the storm chains, paused where she paused, and returned from above in a cleaner voice than the one her wounded gums could make.
Ilex sat at the rain-run mouth with her bound leg straight across the bridge. "That is not you."
Mottle gave one rough cough.
Stone returned it cleanly.
Ilex struck the bridge with her fist, then rested the same hand against Mottle's neck. "That is."
Widow's Needle rose above them without a stair. Old storm chains crossed its outer face and vanished into slits where rain came out red with stone dust. Riders reached the upper anchor by air. A grounded wyvern had only chains, broken bridge pegs, and ledges too narrow for spread wings.
