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He’d left the safety of Cahlish. For her. He’d climbed the mountain. For her. He’d snuck through Irrín and crossed the river. For her. And now he was being chased across the dead fields of Sanasroth by a horde of feeders. He must have been tired and ready to give up, but he was still coming. For her. And I was not about to let that little fox die.
God I love that Fox
The universe could end and Carrion Swift wouldn’t have run out of questions.
“I’ve killed more people than I can count. I lost the parts of myself that knew how to feel anything other than pain and sorrow centuries ago. But for better or worse, you have brought me back to life.”
“You taste like the end of the fucking world,” he purred. “Just kill me and be done with it. Nothing will ever be better than this.”
THE FOX SMELLED like wild winter and frost-bitten mornings. I held him tightly under one arm, humming a lullaby that my mother had sung to me as an infant quietly under my breath. Not to the fox. I wasn’t humming to the fox. That would have been weird. I just liked the song, and I had a feeling he did, too. There was nothing wrong with that.
Her eyes flashed daggers at me when she pitched up at my side, and I braced for the shit-kicking I was about to receive. “We don’t torture people,” she said, her tone full of ice. “Carrion tortures me daily,” I muttered.
