CHAPTER TWO
The Sirin of FireThe morning fog, dripping wet on the spruces ringing the oval pool, was doing its best to stop the sun from rising. The sun fought half-heartedly, its light a sickly yellow. The grass, inundated with dew just on the verge of hoarfrost, shivered from the breeze as though it had lost its patience with the long winter. Voran shook with the grass and tried to remember what a beautiful sunrise felt like.
This same sort of fog had marred his last morning with Sabíana, what seemed like twenty lifetimes, not years, ago. Then, they had been young, their hearts bursting with fire. Voran had just been exiled for life by Sabíana’s father, but neither of them had expected that separation to last long. He would find the Weeping Tree. He would bring the healing power of the
