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...ly to the window where the pale light of the sickle moon parted the shadows. She had said no word to him. Even now, she was not sure that such words existed that could begin to describe what had touched her there. The cries caressed the inner vaults of her mind, damning her, accusing her. The hollow darkness in her stomach gaped like the maw of some fiendish beast. Behind her, she could hear Aryndor’s soft footsteps coming to her and then stopping a pace away.


“Sorrel....something has left the gate.”


Sorrel barely heard him, the cries reverberating insistently. Aryndor turned her gently to face him, but even then all she could see within the soft, blurry edges of memory were the lights, the pale lights and cold, merciless touch as she was taken....Dimly, she became aware that Aryndor was shaking her.


“Sorrel, the gate was not destroyed! Do you hear me, Sorrel? The gate is open and something has come out!”

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