They flew fast enough that the landscape beneath them blurred into streaks of brown and grey and the occasional stubborn green.
Serala had a faint smile on her face as she spoke, and it was the first time Damian had seen her look genuinely at ease. The wind tore past them at speeds that would have ripped the voice from an ordinary person's throat, but their Primeval bodies didn't care about ordinary limitations, and her words reached him clearly through the rushing air.
"The Hallowed Voice taught me something when I was young," she said, her white-gold and verdant wings cutting through the atmosphere beside him. "I was maybe 15 summers. The other Holy Women in training had decided I was wrong about something, I can't even remember what it was now, and they were loud about it. Dozens of them. I went to him crying and told him everyone said I was wrong."
She glanced at Damian, and the faint smile deepened.
