He slid a fraction, but immediately spread his arms and legs out, halting the motion. Carefully, he sat up upon the glass-slick, carven rocks. The nighttime world around him was cold, bitterly cold. In the sky overhead hung the roiling, flashing vortex. It was distant and quite impossible to reach. “Milord?” Gruum called. “This way,” Therian called back from some distance away. Gruum struggled to stand without slipping. The rock was slanted and treacherous. A cliff edge seemed ready to devour him in every direction. He stood warily, and took steps in the direction of his master’s voice. “Gruum?” whispered someone behind him. He whirled and gasped, reaching for his saber. He wondered what strange thing might be reaching for him. He found it was Nadja. He paused to stare. She was a woman now, full-grown and lovely to behold. It had to be her, he knew, for no one else could possibly walk here freely. “Nadja?” he asked in a hissing whisper. “What are you doing here?” She gave a tiny squeal of happiness.
