The fields of Nesta had become somewhat a vague memory to Clara, as stone and dirt replaced the luscious green. The clouds seem to cloak the sky in a constant storm promising grey. It was, miserable. Clara’s jaw ticks, aching from the awkward position she’d slept in. The chaperon, Seb, catches her gaze briefly. “Five minutes remaining.” Clara’s brows jump. They’d scaled to a higher altitude, that she was certain of, but there had been no homes, no bodies roaming. There was nothing to roam. Jagged cliff sides, hidden caverns, a gushing ravine. There had been so little green, the earth appeared scorched. How could there possibly be any homes for residents?
Precise cut turrets crest over the incline of a particularly sparse dirt road. The confused and exhausted she wolf of Suntra rubs her sl
