Without thinking, Rose stuck her hand out and caught it in her palm. She tensed, waiting to be thrown into another memory, but nothing changed. She was still sitting atop Storm at the edge of the forest. The wind was whistling through the trees and dawn was breaking in beautiful brushstrokes of amber and pink. She was about to open her hand and set the soul free when a bellowing cry split the air in two. A man in silver armour stepped out from the other side of the Mother Tree and came charging towards her. He was tall and broad with a large chin and a heavy brow, and though Rose had never
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