Their cloaks bore the same golden sunburst on the breast as his, the same as every Child of the Light, and their leader even had golden knots of rank below it equivalent to Bornhald's. Instead, they stared silently at the High Lord's body. Soldiers, horses, his friends, everyone and everything gone. One of the men was sharpening a dagger with long, slow strokes of a stone.
His yellow eyes seemed to look inward, and he sounded tired. I can't believe . I missed you, she said, and kissed him. I am Sheriam, the Mistress of Novices.
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