It was quiet again. Everyone had returned to their respective tents. Only a few of the soldiers still gathered bodies for burning. Adelaida was so tired that the inside of her head seemed to itch, and her fingers twitched without her being able to control them. And yet, she didn’t sleep. She stood, arms crossed, watching the soldiers at their grim work. But her mind was elsewhere.
She listened with all her power, trying to hear something that would give her an indication of what she feared.
As the new allies had left for their beds, Adelaida had felt the air become charged with presence, with something like a hum, but just beyond hearing. No one else seemed to hear it. She had concentrated on it, and she had heard in it a growling, like a lion searching for prey in the desert.
The Artis
