Thorbjorn
The door broke with a satisfying sound.
Inside a few candles lit the room, along with a hearth fire. But neither provided the smoke I smelled, a thick, acrid scent—tainted.
Beside me, Rolf coughed, shaking his head sharply as if to clear it. Black magic.
The little female stood in the center of the room, eyes wide. My shoulders softened at the sight of her.
The friar is hiding behind the table. I scent him. Rolf told me.
But my attention was all for Sage. She planted herself in between me and my enemy. Trembling, looking as if she might faint, but staring me down. Normally the monster inside me would have smelled this fear and leapt to attack. Instead, the beast savored the honey in her scent, tasting it like good mead, wanting more. I had the feeling after an hour holding
