The air inside the cottage had grown stale, smelling of dried herbs and the lingering iron scent of the stag Long Zhan had brought two days ago.
For Lin Wan, the luxury of the Dragon Lord's protection was beginning to feel like a silk-lined coffin.
Every time she looked at a piece of roasted meat, her stomach did a slow, treacherous flip. Her body was crying out for fiber, for minerals, for anything that didn't bleed.
"I am going out," Lin Wan announced, her voice ringing with a finality that made Long Zhan look up from the obsidian blade he had been polishing.
"The sun is high, and the wind is sharp," Long Zhan replied, his violet eyes narrowing. "You should rest, Lin Wan. The essence in your blood is still settling."
