56
The Source
Alasyr had been scouring the hard peaks and valleys of Icebolt Mountain for hours. The mid-season storm pushed clouds in his way. Ice peppered his wings, knocking him off course more than once. It would be snow later, which was more forgiving, but there wouldn’t be a later.
He never looked behind him. His mother wouldn’t come after him, any more than she’d gone after Ravenna. She had lived by their traditions and would die by them. She had other children, more pliant and willing than Ravenna and Alasyr. Alasyr’s one regret was not seeing it when Ravenna did, so he could have left with her. It would have spared him this new pain, more acute than any that had come before.
He found a clear patch in the sky and glided sideways, scanning the fresh swash of mountainside. There
