Rift in the Sky

Epilogue

THE M’HIR WIND BEGAN out of sight, out of mind. It stirred first where baked sand met restless surf. It became fitful and petulant as it passed over the barrens, moving dunes and scouring stone. Sometimes it sighed and curled back on itself, as if absentminded. But it never stilled.

It only grew.

It roared over the mountains and brought Sona a storm of hot, dry dust. Ditches hid their moisture beneath pebbles. Low walls and sturdy buildings protected the fields. But the harvest spoiled on stems and rotted in the ground.

The M’hir gave thunderous voice to Yena’s Watchers. But no one danced among the rastis groves or lifted gleaming hooks to the sky. Dresel flew free on its wings, the prize of wastryls.

Cersi was not to change.

Everything had.