Leachim spotted slate rooftops and glanced at Irenya, knowing she would soon see the stunning colours of Pullen.
He had pricked up his ears at Elaaron’s decision to go to Pullen. If Gedric had a close friend living in that most picturesque of towns, so had Elaaron. Her name was Fenith.
Irenya’s cry distracted him. ‘Is that Pullen?’
The party rounded a bend and the town lay before them in the noonday sun, a pinkish wave flowing over the hillside. Leachim heard her next cry.
‘Look at those colours!’
From cottage to manor house, everything was built using the locally quarried stone and shale in shades of red: ruby, wine, rose-pink, and even purples, when a blue vein found its way into the roseate rock. Near the centre of the town, the company dismounted in the courtyard of a large hostel
