Silverlake (no last name, and he shouldn’t ask about how she ended up without one—Kael was very firm on that part) was not what Zorian had expected. She was old, yes, but for a woman of ninety years, she was incredibly lively and spry. In fact, Zorian had a feeling she had an easier time moving through the forest than he did. She wasn’t particularly unkempt, either, despite living in the middle of the wilderness. Her pitch-black hair was devoid of a single white strand (she probably dyed it regularly), and the simple brown dress she was wearing was unremarkable but immaculate. If it weren’t for the wrinkles, he would have pegged her as less than half her age. Was this a consequence of some sort of potion regimen or was she just lucky that way?
Well, no matter. Zorian followed her back to
