"Young chief!" the Gorathim cried, voices raw with relief, when they recognized their leader alive. Throgar said nothing, yet a visible ease softened the hard set of his features.
"Where is Adyr?" Mirela, steadying herself, wiped the wet from her cheeks and searched the space above.
She kept her eyes on the top, expecting a third figure. Instead, the Serpent's vast body vanished from the tent in an instant, as if drawn back through a hidden tear, leaving the space abruptly open and bare.
Only then did the one everyone expected to see appear in the open air. White and black wings beat in a patient rhythm, holding him aloft as he carried a body downward—one that none of them remembered looking quite the same as before.
Every gaze fixed on him and breaths held while the Wanderer Merchant stroked his goatee once more, a quiet light kindling in his eyes.
"I suppose a quiet storm is about to fall on the Outer Region."
