Master of Crows
“ “Bursin’s wings.” She scooted back and pulled the covers over her head. “Cael, you smell like the dead. Have you been rolling in the pig sty again?”
The dog whined and shoved his nose into the blankets. Martise scrambled out of the bed, anxious to put some distance between her and his repulsive smell. He padded after her when she hurried to her window and opened the shutters.
Pale morning light embroidered the window’s edge and cast the last pre-dawn shadows in sharp relief. The crows sl...eeping in the orange grove fluttered to life, rocking the drooping branches as they hopped from perch to perch and fought for space in the coveted treetops.
Cael joined her. He stood on his hind legs, resting massive paws on the window ledge. Martise stared at him with trepidation as he towered over her. The mage-finder was a massive animal, bigger than any of the males in the pack she’d seen at Conclave. White-muzzled and past his prime, he was still formidable. She’d watched him hunt on Neith land, easily running the fastest prey to ground with a long, loping stride. His kills were swift, efficient and left Martise rubbing the chills off her arms hours later. Once, long ago, mage-finders had hunted and killed the Gifted in the same fashion.MoreLess
The dog whined and shoved his nose into the blankets. Martise scrambled out of the bed, anxious to put some distance between her and his repulsive smell. He padded after her when she hurried to her window and opened the shutters.
Pale morning light embroidered the window’s edge and cast the last pre-dawn shadows in sharp relief. The crows sl...eeping in the orange grove fluttered to life, rocking the drooping branches as they hopped from perch to perch and fought for space in the coveted treetops.
Cael joined her. He stood on his hind legs, resting massive paws on the window ledge. Martise stared at him with trepidation as he towered over her. The mage-finder was a massive animal, bigger than any of the males in the pack she’d seen at Conclave. White-muzzled and past his prime, he was still formidable. She’d watched him hunt on Neith land, easily running the fastest prey to ground with a long, loping stride. His kills were swift, efficient and left Martise rubbing the chills off her arms hours later. Once, long ago, mage-finders had hunted and killed the Gifted in the same fashion.MoreLess
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