Selina’s POV
"Do not move, Finn," a serene voice commanded from the lip of the ravine.
Isolde stepped out of the plum-coloured gloom. Elias followed a pace behind, his hand half-raised in a protective reflex, but the pale gold light humming beneath her bronze skin cast a wide, tranquil radius that seemed to push back the chill of the moor. Her clouded eyes were fixed unerringly on the huddle of gold fur and black scar tissue before us.
"Isolde, he’s in there," Finn rasped, his head pressed against the lead hound's ruined shoulder. He didn't look up. "Gideon is still in there. But the rot is tightening. I can feel it pulling him back under."
"I know," Isolde said softly, dropping to her knees on the frozen peat beside them. The pristine diamond brilliance she had absorbed from the North
