It was nearly, but not quite a run, for us. The twins hurried, and I noticed occasional glimmers from beneath the hood or drape of their borrowed cloaks: the white dragonstones at Aurora’s tiara and at Silva’s throat were at work, pulsing with each footfall. A dull but steady shadowlight gleamed between the fingers of their clasped hands; Aurora augmented the healing with a black. I did not fail to notice the shrike’s grip firm at each attempt of Silva’s to pull her own hand free.
