A huge winter hawk rested on the water before me, wings tucked across his back. His wingspan was probably twice my size, with feathers as white as salt. His eyes were an eerie white as well, his beak black and hooked for tearing. I could see his talons through the water, paddling with swift, strong strokes. Like the Rhi’Ahr, winter hawks were born in the ice and snow and dread of the Nethersea. Figured that the last creature to see me alive would be Netherborn.
Whitethorn? What are you doing here?
