Dawnlark Plains I drew that glass across his neck, fine as any blade.

He’d never found Orlaith. The snow that marked his departure from the wilds had also masked her own; it was only hours before her trail grew cold.

After a year of trying, Riley gave in. It took another year before he’d found his foothold in his new world — and another six months before he’d returned to his homeland.

There was nothing left. His hopes hadn’t been high, considering most of his childhood had toppled before he’d ever departed the wilds.

He coursed north. Here the landscape was more familiar to him, reminiscent of the wildwoods he’d stalked in the last few months. Savannah grass spread before him, heavy with sun ripened fescue grass.

Riley picked his way across the yellow field, scenting the wind as he went.