Elowen's tree bowed once as if acknowledging a rival ceremony. Then it struck. Not with spear roots or wave roots.
With a heartbeat. The trunk thumped and the entire structure of branches, leaves, and veins beat with it.
The arena shook on the second beat. On the third, the standards trembled. On the fourth, half of them fell.
The army broke formation and ran and found itself trapped in circles that were not on the ground but in the rhythm.
Running against a heartbeat is hard. Running against the world's heartbeat is almost impossible.
Lilith did not let them slow down. She reached into her robe and drew out a pin the size of a fingertip, a plain pin with a head that showed no symbol.
She pushed it into the platform. The sound it made was small, but the effect was not. The space flinched like a person whose old scar had been pressed.
