“Malevolence ignited her embryonic awareness. An inchoate, unspoken cry echoed from the depths of her soul: I am alive!”
Conjured by the sadistic Warlock Sanfuri, Whisper faces a stark choice. Run with his message, or die.
Beaten. Maimed. Bound by the Warlock’s unbreakable magical imperative, Whisper is forced to navigate the tortuous pathways of a labyrinth twenty miles deep, riven by Dragon-infested canyons and scorched by sunstrike. Now, she must use her unique Whisper skills to forge a path across the Sundering’s devastation and blaze a trail to Arbor, the City of Blue – dooming its Human population to the onslaught of Sanfuri’s Dragon army.
Dying would solve everything.
Or, she could refuse to be silenced, and make Sanfuri regret leaving a Whisper alive.
Whisper is a magical enigma of yore, and the last of her kind. Runner. Wayfinder. Saboteur extraordinaire. Snarky defier of evil Warlocks and Dragons. Armed with little but a never-say-die attitude and the quickest paws in the canyons, Whisper chooses to run for her life. For all life.
Thus, the legend is born. Whisper Alive!
Malevolence IGNITED Her embryonic awareness. An inchoate, unspoken cry echoed from the depths of her soul: I am alive!
The first quickening of life pulsed in eerie counterpoint to an encircling electrical field. Humming sounds broken by sharp crackling overwhelmed her hypersensitive hearing. A metallic tang seared her throat. Ozone, mingled with the sickly stench of singed fur. Her smoking, flame-red fur.
The creature shrank backward, blinking multiple times.
The miracle of sight shot rainbows in her mind. Colours ablaze. The sweeping bonfires of incarnation shivered before another elemental shout: I breathe!
The glory of nascent life faded into a melodious fizz that ruffled her silky fur from the points of her fright-flattened ears to the tip of her long, delicate tail. Impressions cascaded over her overstimulated senses in great, kaleidoscopic waterfalls of tint and scent and sensation, sparking wild, skirling squalls of thought despite a lack of words in which to couch them. Instinct led. She scented the air with a rapid-flare movement of her nostrils, filling and refilling her lungs. Awakened to myriad smells. Vegetation. Musky sweat. Unknowable tangs and nuances, so evocative, inciting secondary cataracts of sensation, including the awareness of a rank fear-odour – her own.
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Luis Rodrigo Cano Borja
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Author review: Luis did a great job and was super to work with. High quality. |
