When the mountain that holds the bone cathedral is nothing but a distant shadow against the stars, he stops beside a small clearing sheltered by ancient pines. He sets me down gently, his breath coming in controlled pants that speak of exertion held in check.
"We're safe," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "For now."
I collapse against him, finally allowing myself to truly believe we escaped. His arms close around me with infinite tenderness, and his heart-light pulses soft gold—relief and love and fierce protectiveness all mixed together.
"They'll come after us," I whisper against his chest.
"Let them." His voice carries the promise of violence, the quiet certainty of a creature who's spent centuries learning how to kill. "I won't let them take you again."
In the distance, barely audible, hunting cries echo across the mountains. Malakor's forces, spreading out to search for us. But for this moment, wrapped in Thorrin's arms beneath a canopy of stars, I'm exactly where I belong.
They can hunt all they want. They'll never take me alive again.
