Gwendolyn and Tristan's gazes met and held, a silent battle of wills playing out between them, as epic as any clash of armies upon a blood-soaked battlefield. Finally, Gwendolyn turned to the shaman who still stood waiting, her regal mask sliding back into place. "Excellent," she declared, her voice carrying the authority of one born to command. "We go."
The shaman bowed and retreated. As the shaman shuffled away, Gwendolyn turned back to Tristan one last time. Her eyes glinted with an emotion he couldn't quite place – was it regret? Fear? Or something else entirely? "Surely, we have left much unsaid, and time grows short," she murmured. "I pray I get to see you again before the dark moon. But for the notice, remain by the door tomorrow's eve, before the blood moon."
Before Tristan could
