Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter VIII

Revon

Nightwing screeched miserably as she crested the western mountains, flying into the dawn, towards the mainland of Arras. Her made-heart thundered against her ribs and her carefully woven sinews very nearly creaked under the burden of the entrenched blindsight that hid the valley below. Through Nightwing’s simple mind, Revon knew it felt like flying through honey. But he didn’t stop her. He merely yielded her more power and urged her onwards. She might kill herself.

So be it. Just as long as she got them over the mountains.

Nightwing was replaceable. The mage he had found most certainly was not.

Draped across and lashed to the graven’s rippling back, the black-haired young woman looked as good as dead. Only her shallow breathing suggested that she was, in fact, still alive. To simplify her capture, he had untethered her mind from the other six facets of her being—flesh, bone, blood, heart, soul and breath—and siphoned it into the milky hexstone on his breastplate. Just hours before, that …