Morning crept over Whitebridge with sunlight that felt remarkably warmer than usual. Whether it was because the square's well was flowing once more, because the terror of the beast Vol had ended at the tip of Naya's arrow, or simply because Roland could finally sleep soundly without guessing what insane test the Pastor would throw at them next.
In the dining room of The Sunny Rest, the caravan gathered for their final breakfast in the village. Madam Lena served platters piled high with thick slices of rye bread, soft-boiled eggs, and steaming pots of herbal tea—portions far more generous than the inn's standard fare, though Roland hadn't asked for it.
Adul sat hunched at the corner of the table. His thin hands trembled slightly around his teacup. The shaking was no longer born of panic, but rather the lingering adrenaline from last night's skirmish that hadn't completely flushed from his bloodstream.
