6
I tore through the unnatural mountain valley on the trail of Wyr, my Pup, and the long-sealed door to Torvaston’s settlement. Whether the gods had answered my hasty prayers and granted me a burst of speed, or whether my magickally supercharged state put wings to my feet, I began to gain on Wyr despite his head start. He charged headlong through the verdant grasses like a fox with a pack of hounds on his tail; that, I supposed, made me the hounds. I could be sorely tempted to tear him apart with my teeth, too, once I caught him — if Pup didn’t beat me to it. I didn’t think she had too many violent tendencies, but one never knew. Wyr could rouse the bloodthirsty instincts of a block of stone.
It occurred to me, as I pelted along, to wonder where Wyr thought he was going. His flight seeme
