How, by all divine will, was he standing on the walls of Salme, awaiting relief from an army sent by Calen Bryer? It wasn’t even stuff of bards’ tales. It sounded more akin to one of Dann Pimm’s drunken stories, like that time the boy had sworn he’d laid eyes on a horse with a horn growing from its head.
I really hope at some point we see a unicorn.
