As I lay back on the hard cot in the Elisera jail, exhaustion crept over me like a heavy fog. The cold stone beneath me did nothing to ease the ache in my heart, but my body was weary—too weary to fight sleep any longer. My eyes fluttered shut, and despite the constant hum of sorrow in my chest, I slipped into darkness.
At first, it was quiet. The kind of deep, endless quiet that stretches across the mind when you are floating between sleep and consciousness. Then, gradually, a familiar landscape began to form in the depths of my mind. It was the same scene I had played over and over in my thoughts, though this time it was sharper, more vivid. The smell of damp earth, the sound of wind rustling through the trees, and there, standing at the edge of the clearing, was Bloodriver.
