The lighthouse is shrouded with thick, dark storm clouds. The gentle light within its top is obscured — or, Shyan fears, no longer burning at all. All the same, she swallows her concern.
The broken iron gates swing open at the gang’s approach. The groaning man-creatures precede the wagon, loping onto the lighthouse grounds.
“Is the witch home?” Fassn asks.
“She must be,” Shyan says. “We have a very special guest.”
“Indeed,” says Cang. “And if I’m attended to, I can become rather irritable.”
“Obviously,” Shyan mutters under her breath.
“Careful girl,” Cang says. “Mine ears are sharp.” He smiles, showing off his teeth — even sharper than his ears.
The door to the lighthouse creaks and opens.