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Chapter Five Hundred And Fifty One – 551
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... d. She was pacing a tight circle around the Frostfathers Altar like a Hoarhound stalking its prey. Have they emerged?
Not yet, Sitri reported. The wrinkled crone stood closest to the altar, her hands pressed against the cloudy orb of ice that had grown there. Her rheumy eyes, so poor normally, were the best at scrying through ice. They continue to conjure flames within their shell.
Why? The Frostfather will not look on this delay kindly.
Defense is as necessary as offense ...
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