Yara stirred before the first light touched the treetops, her breath misting faintly in the frigid air. The cold crept through her borrowed cloak, clawing at her spine. She lay still for a moment, eyes open, watching shadows shift across the forest canopy above.
Something was wrong.
Her heartbeat was steady, but it was too loud. The quiet pressed in from all sides—thick and unnatural. Not just silence. Absence.
She sat up slowly, careful not to wake the others, and turned toward Sky's satchel, where the eggs were bundled. The faintest shimmer of warmth pulsed from them, like tiny heartbeats. She reached out and touched the fabric—warm, but not distressed.
A few paces away, Farin stood, hood pulled up, arms folded against the cold. He glanced over as she moved.
"You've been tossing all night," he said quietly.
Yara blinked at him. "You were watching?"
"You mutter when you dream," he replied with a half-smile. "Something about wings. And someone named 'Val,' I think."
