Whitefish River We are receiving numerous reports that books have stopped working

Through Drago’s wailing, her daughter suggested they shoulder him together; eyes were hard and bright, almost quartz, as they fell pensive upon her shrike. Together — perhaps they’d find the strength they needed to move him that way? The silver had parted scarred lips to affirm that alternative when a croak of Isilmë’s epithet and a wisp of “Mama?” ensnared itself in the catches of her anxious ears.

She didn’t know— she didn’t know whether or not she should gather him up and take him from this murk first; or, if she should kneel by his side, tell him I’m here, she didn’t know— “Balaur mea,” she murmured, tentatively sniffing towards him, wanting nothing more than to press kisses to his brow, his cheeks. But not yet. “We must remove you from ze caves first. And then...”

There was no time to waste  (as much as she longed to.) Drawing alongside, she was able to work what upper half of his body that she could; eyeing her pale shrike of a daughter, needing her to tend to his other half before they dragged him out and into the light.