28
As the black sea of grass stretching out beyond sight in all directions slowly warmed to grey, then green, Frankle sat perfectly still, unable to take his eyes off the glowing mountain of flame in the distance. It dominated the horizon, outshining even the sun that rose behind and above it now, lighting the Eternal Sea.
Frankle shivered in his cloak, the chill of the morning tickling where it wormed its way between the folds of cloth, as though trying to wrest his attention away from the sight. But it was hopeless. He was enthralled, eyes locked on the impossible, breath sighing in and out of his lungs in time with the pulse of the vision.
‘Frankle?’ Heather’s voice cut across his thoughts, but didn’t find any purchase.
He felt a hand brush his shoulder, his forehead, then pull away
