She’d never be ready for this, for Endovier and the world without Sam. A breeze filled the wagon, lifting away the smells of the past two weeks. Her trembling paused for a heartbeat. She knew that breeze. She knew the chill bite beneath it, knew the hint it carried of pine and snow, knew the mountains from which it hailed. A northern breeze, a breeze of Terrasen. She must stand up. Pine and snow and lazy, golden summers—a city of light and music in the shadow of the Staghorn Mountains. She must stand, or be broken before she even entered Endovier.
