Ashwing shrank down into his smaller form beside him, tail flicking nervously. "And it's hungry."
The gathered elves murmured uneasily at the sight of the dragon speaking, but Nysha waved them off. "The council will want a full report," she said.
"They'll have it."
He moved past her, cloak trailing faint motes of gold, residual mana from the purification. The guards opened the great doors to the council chamber, and Lindarion entered without waiting to be announced.
Inside, the high hall shimmered with sunlight filtering through the canopy. The floor was living wood, polished to a mirror sheen, its veins glowing faintly with the life of the World Tree.
The thrones of Vaelthorn and Sylwen Ironbark stood beneath the arch of woven roots, their carved surfaces glinting with runes older than recorded history.
Both rulers were present, along with their advisors and several commanders from Lorienya's border guard. Conversation died instantly as Lindarion approached.
