Dardanelles tore ahead, veering to the right, giving Caelyn and his warder more room as they moved into position. Each step resounded with thunder as lightning sparked beneath their feet. Wind tore at their hair and cloaks, whipping it back. Markos, freed of his responsibility of controlling his horse closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he drew the Word into his lungs, expanding it and holding it.
"We are the storm," Caelyn's voice called in his mind. "Focus on the image of it as we ride, this is going to take a lot of energy, be ready."
