Manon blinked. And blinked again as Bronwen extended a fist toward Manon and opened it. Inside lay a pale purple flower, small as Manon’s thumbnail. Beautiful and delicate. “A bastion of Crochans just made it here—a bit late, but they heard the call and came. All the way from the Wastes.” Manon stared and stared at that purple flower. “They brought this with them. From the plain before the Witch-City.”
