Gavriel’s son was bellowing Whitethorn’s name. A gods-damned victory cry. Over and over, the men taking up the call. Then Fenrys’s voice lifted. And Gavriel’s. And that red-haired queen. The Havilliard king. Their armada soared for Maeve’s, sun and sea and sails all around, blades glinting in the morning brightness. Even the rise and fall of the oars seemed to echo the chant. On into battle, on into bloodshed, they called the prince’s name.
No because if this was a movie scene
