“They could also be from the wild men of these mountains.” Though Manon knew they weren’t. She’d hunted enough Crochans during the past hundred years to spot their style of making fires, their neat little camps. All the Thirteen had. And they’d all tracked and killed so many of the wild men of the White Fangs earlier this year on Erawan’s behalf that they knew their habits, too. Asterin’s gold-flecked black eyes fell on that blurred horizon. “We’ll find them.” Soon. They had to find at least some of the Crochans soon. Manon knew they had methods of communicating, scattered as they were. Ways
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