She could see despite the darkness, and the sharply defined spine of a basaltic mountain range loomed where no mountains belonged, here at the heart of the Catlin plain. And the sorcery emanating from the blood of the Sleeping Goddess – it, too, Crone recognized. The touch of the Crippled God. Within Burn’s veins, a transformation was taking place. The Fallen One was making her blood his own. And that is a taste I know well, for it was as mother’s milk to me, so very long ago. To me, and to my kin. Changes had come to the world below, and Crone revelled in changes. Her soul and that of her kin
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