Ashwing, perched on Lindarion's shoulder, yawned loudly. "You two talk too much about serious things. Can we at least have breakfast before you go chasing ghosts again?"
Lindarion's lips twitched faintly. "You just had breakfast."
"That was an hour ago."
"You're not a void serpent, Ashwing."
"I could be," the dragon said defiantly. "If I tried."
Nysha actually smiled at that, brief, fleeting, but real.
They walked in silence for a while longer, until they reached the terrace that overlooked the southern horizon. The sunlight cut through the canopy, gleaming on Lindarion's white hair. Below them, the great roots of the World Tree coiled and glimmered faintly, alive with quiet power.
"Do you really think it's Dythrael?" Nysha asked, her tone lower now, as if afraid the branches themselves might listen.
Lindarion's gaze didn't waver from the horizon. "No. Not yet. But whatever stirs beneath the land isn't natural. And if it isn't him, it may be something older."
