surveyed the three walls of snow—the barricades—that bordered the field as Mor erected an invisible shield against the bitter wind. It did little to drive away the cold, though. “They’re having a snowball fight.” Another nod. “Three Illyrian warriors,” I said. “The greatest Illyrian warriors. Are having a snowball fight.” Mor’s eyes practically glowed with wicked delight. “Since they were children.” “They’re over five hundred years old.”
