The birds woke before he did.
They made small, busy sounds in the underbrush, hopping through last night's ashes and damp leaves. The fire was only a circle of grey, with one stubborn coal pretending it was still important.
Lyan woke all at once, the way soldiers did when the world nudged them.
He didn't move at first. He listened.
Wind in the branches. A soft hiss of distant water. No footsteps close. No metal clink that didn't belong to them.
Good.
He let out a slow breath and pushed himself up, muscles complaining about it.
Pain walked up his spine like it was climbing stairs. His ribs ached when he twisted. His shoulder twinged from where a wolf had almost made a snack of it.
"Still alive," he muttered.
(You say that like it's a bad result.)
Cynthia's voice brushed through his mind, warm and amused.
He rolled his shoulders and opened himself a little to the air, the way he did when he wanted to taste mana instead of wind.
The mountain felt… old.
