Goosebumps rose over my flesh as I followed Mistress Lorelai into the proverbial lion's den. Only, my dökkálfar instructor was no prey. She was the predator. She was the lioness about to rip into the flesh of the wolf at our door.
Yep, this chill running down my back wasn't caused by fear, but by the excitement of a spectator about to witness something amazing. The kind I used to feel whenever I witnessed Divah's battles. Mistress Lorelai had that same Amazon warrior vibe—and I was all giddy about having front-row seats to the coming smackdown.
To his credit, the blue-eyed man in the patchwork fur cloak didn't look the least bit intimidated by Mistress Lorelai's golden spear or the frosty glare she trained on him. He hefted his curved black blade over his shoulder and waited patiently for us to climb higher up the hill.
