Her face grew drawn—her hand more urgent. She unturned her pockets, then her cloak, searching for something. “Shit,” she breathed. “What?” “It’s not here,” she cried. “My charm. I must have dropped it when he knocked into me.” Somewhere behind us, a branch snapped. “What was that?” Jespyr said, her eyes wide. “We shouldn’t linger,” I managed, my neck strained as I looked around. “The other Destriers can’t be far.” But Jespyr merely shook her head, her eyes glassy with fear. “I—I…” She coughed, as if she’d swallowed too much water. “Can you smell it?” she said. “Can you smell the salt?” I
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