“I am always serious, Shula.”
I smile faintly, despite myself.
“Okay. Fine. You’re serious. But admit it. This isn’t like you.”
“No,” he agrees. “It is not.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable.
It just… is.
Heavy. Full of things neither of us knows how to say.
Why is he doing things he wouldn’t normally do?
Why does it matter if I ask something of him?
I glance out at the terrain as we ride.
It stretches out forever, copper and obsidian, speckled with thorny brush and veins of silver rock that shimmered beneath the surface.
In the distance, I see more fire beasts running wild—manes blazing, hooves kicking up sparks as they raced one another across the horizon.
In the sky, I see enormous birds like vultures circling, maybe for dead things to munch on?
“Those are Carrion Crows, they keep the Plains clean,” Thorne explains.
“And the creatures pulling the coach?”
“Fire Mustangs. It is impossible to domesticate them, but when the Lord of Fire calls, they come,” he explains without conceit, though I am aware of how awesome that is. “A drink, Shula?”
Thorne offers me a silver flask, and I take it.
Inside is warm spiced tea.
Like my favorite chai latte.
I sigh as I drink deeply.
I turn my head to the window and try to take it all in.
Another herd of Mustangs runs wild a few hundred yards away.
It’s like watching living stars gallop across a world made of ash.
Their coats shimmer as if dusted with starlight, manes streaking behind them like comets.
They leave trails of disturbed soot in their wake, kicking up embers that spark to flames only for them to die before they touch the ground.
It’s surreal. Haunting. Beautiful.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I whisper, breath catching in my throat.
The coach we’re riding in is silent save for the soft hum of magic beneath our feet.
It's not like any vehicle I’ve ever ridden in before—not a car, not a train.
The wheels don’t even touch the ground.
