The procession resumed its march, drawn by the momentum of the stone creature. Each step of the giant made the ground vibrate, sending an echo into Maggie's ribcage. She could no longer hear her own heartbeat: it had synced with the dull rhythm of this mountain clearing the way.
At first, no one dared to speak. The silence wasn't a tacit agreement, but a shared fear. The memory of the blow struck against the beast, that fist which had turned a threat into pure nothingness, still hung in the air like invisible ash.
Zirel was the first to crack. He had moved closer, not too much, but enough for Maggie to feel his nervous breath on her neck. His voice was low, falsely restrained.
"Do you think you can control it?"
Maggie didn't answer right away. Her instinct screamed at her to tell him to piss off, but she knew one wrong word could trigger a storm. She finally spat out, in a sharp tone:
"I mostly think it controls me as much as I control it."
