“I want my sword.” The Guardian sighed like he’d heard that request a hundred times over a hundred years. Not twice in the past few days. “You agreed.” “That I did.” He rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. “You look dead on your feet, Sparrow. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll train. Be ready at dawn.” What was it with the Turans and dawn? Something always seemed to be happening at dawn. “Fine.” “Don’t go past the fires.” He pointed a long finger at my nose. Go into the wild where these monsters lived? “Not a chance.” “Can you find your way back to your tent?” Probably. Though it might take me an hour.
...more
