illyria mahariel

The crispness of autumn was giving way to a cool winter and with the sun hanging low in the sky, the air nipped at Tamlen’s forearms. He ran into the aravel laughing. “Little arrow! You will never guess what Fenarel—” his words hit a sudden block in his throat, dying quickly. Illyria wasn’t there. Instead, Ashalle sat alone in the corner with her head in her hands. Her eyes were wet when she looked up.

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