A low rumble echoed from below, faint but unmistakable. The sound of something shifting, something alive.
Ashwing tensed. "Please tell me that's just the wind."
"It isn't."
The dragon groaned. "I hate when you say that."
Lindarion stood still for a long moment, eyes fixed on the chasm. His golden irises reflected the light from below, two thin shards of dawn in a world gone dim. "We'll camp here tonight," he said finally. "Tomorrow, we descend."
Ashwing's eyes went wide. "Descend?! Into that?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because whatever sleeps down there isn't just feeding on mana, it's directing it. And if we leave it alone, it may wake the rest."
The dragon groaned louder. "You really don't like easy plans, do you?"
Lindarion smirked faintly. "If I liked them, I wouldn't still be alive."
