“I heard singing,” she says, her eyes unfocused, far away. “Two voices. One low and gruff, the other light, lilting.” She trails off and lays back in the dirt.
“What happened to me?” she asks.
“Old Mossy and the princess came after you for Davit,” Fassn says sadly. “Filled you up full of bone dart poisons, and still you kicked the crud from their teeth.”
“Sure,” she replies absently. “But after?”
“After,” Fassn says, drawing into himself. “After was a boon of Old Ajralan.”
Logan Bright — Works 