CHAPTER XXIV

Kouris came crashing down like an avalanche, chest rising as she heaved for breath. I'd never seen her get so much as a scratch, yet there she was, three arrows pushed into her chest, piercing her lung, with thick, orange blood pouring out of the wounds. Death circled above her, drawing closer and closer and then dispersing when I ran over, shadows pushed away by the sun.

“Stop that,” Kidira said, knelt by Kouris' side. One hand was pushed down on Kouris' chest, close to the bolts, and the other gripped at her jaw, keeping her still and demanding her attention. “Your other heart is fine. Look at me—look at me, Kouris. Rowan's here.”

My knees slammed against the ground and I took Kouris' face in my hands, eyes fixed on hers. Darkness was claiming them, tarnishing the gold and turning it black, and I murmured her name under my breath, drawing the pain into myself and healing her heart and lung over and over again as the bolts continued to tear through them.

Kouris wheezed, choked on the blood in her throat, and Kidira said, “I'm going to remove the arrows. Keep looking at Rowan,” more composed than I could ever be. My eyes were misting over and I didn't dare to blink, lest my tears scare Kouris more than she already was. I'd never healed a pane like this and the echo of her injury settled strangely within me; my heart and no twin, and the pain saturated the whole of my chest.

“One...” Kidira said, wrapping her fingers around the bolt and tugging sharply on it. Kouris threw her head back, feeling enough to start seething, and I closed the wound the second the bolt was free. “Two...”

Kidira grunted, hands slick with blood. She wiped them on her shirt and took hold of the last bolt, having to push the bolt deeper before she could twist it out.

“Three.”

With all of the wounds closed, I willed Kouris' heart and lung to heal for a final time, and the darkness that swarmed her eyes disappeared along with death.

Kouris tried to speak, but it came out rougher than any curse in Svargan. Turning onto her side, she choked on the breath she tried to draw in and spat blood into the dirt, knocking a fist against her chest, until she could bring herself to sit up.

I threw my arms around her neck, pressing my cheek against hers.

“Yrval...” she croaked. “You're trembling.”

I was having a harder time catching my breath than she was.

“You're okay,” I murmured, plastering a hand against her other cheek and kissing her face. “You scared me, Kouris.”

Closing her eyes, she knocked her forehead against mine.

“Reckon you had the right idea in tagging along,” she said, smiling shakily. I kept close and she wrapped an arm around me, looking up at Kidira. “... thanks, Kidira. Don't know how the hell you always manage to stay so calm.”

Kidira stood over us, arms folded across her chest. Orange blood stained her hands and arms, her shirt and throat, but her expression merely said she'd been mildly inconvenienced, somehow. She didn't shake, didn't let out a heavy, relieved breath. I was a necromancer and yet she was the one who was fearless.

“And that, Kouris, is why you don't wave your arms around in front of people half your size wielding crossbows,” Kidira said sternly, holding out a hand.

Tentatively, Kouris took it, doing all the work to get back to her feet.

Fearing retaliation, Rylan's soldiers had left in a hurry. There was nothing for us to do but take the news back to Kyrindval, and though Kouris insisted that she didn't need time to rest, she ran more slowly back to the mountains than I'd known her to run before. Neither Kidira nor I said anything, but kept our eyes fixed on Kouris, no matter how recovered we knew her to be.

Charley was more than a little jittery after what had happened with Rylan and the crossbows, far from eager to head back up the mountain. I issued every bribe I knew, leading him up the path what felt like a step at a time, and could've wept when I set eyes on Kyrindval once more. I scrubbed at my eyes, letting out a breath I'd been holding all the way up the mountain, and strongly considered collapsing there and then.

I'd no intention of leaving Kouris alone, but didn't have to.

Kidira had come to a stop by her side, holding her horse's reins out to me.

I took them, about to head into Kyrindval, but spoke before I could think better of opening my mouth.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “About Katja.”

Kidira placed a hand on my shoulder, but all she said was, “Go. Report our findings to Claire.”

I led the horses to the stables, only daring to turn back once the edge of the tribe was almost out of sight. Kidira had sat in the grass, so far from Kouris' side that she may as well have not been there at all.

A kindly pane working in the stables promised to take extra care of Charley until he calmed down, and the two of them seemed to already be acquainted well enough. The strip of sky along the horizon had turned a pale red while the rest was just dark enough to make the clouds and sky itself indistinguishable. I walked through Kyrindval with my arms wrapped around myself, hiding the blood that had spilt onto me.

The last thing any pane wanted to see was a human covered in orange blood.

Claire was in her cabin, sat in the living area. I heard voices from the street, Akela's and then Sen's, seeping out in equal measures, and paused, gathering myself. I wished I could've taken her nothing but good news, but the incident with the crossbow and Katja's presence put an end to all that.

Kouris was fine, I reminded myself, closing my eyes until images of the bolts dug deep in her chest faded.

An attempt at playing cards had been made. They laid forgotten across the table in the centre of the room, while Claire sunk into an armchair, not distracted in the least by the way Akela and Sen sat chatting on the sofa opposite her, chick perched happily on Akela's knee.

Sen's ears didn't fail her. She heard me dragging my feet through the corridor and shot to her feet at the sight the pane blood splattered across my golden shirt.

“It's okay, it's okay,” I said, holding my hands out. “It's Kouris', but she's okay. I healed her.”

“Northwood,” Akela said, wrapping her fingers around Sen's wrist when she couldn't find her own way back to the sofa. “What is happening? Where is Kidira?”

“She's just outside of Kyrindval, with Kouris,” I explained. “She's fine.”

Akela furrowed her brow at the thought of Kidira willingly spending more time than she had to with Kouris, but was content enough to stay where she was once she knew Kidira was safe.

“What happened, Rowan?” Claire asked, closing her book and quietly slipping it onto the floor.

I shook my head, wandering aimlessly around the room, all eyes on me. All three of them were being more patient than I was, and at the sound of Akela's chick chirping, I took a seat on the arm of Claire's chair and let it all rush out of me.

"Rylan says you have a month. He wants you to surrender, to go work with him. He says he's willing to excuse all of this, and that together, you can help repair Kastelir. But there was something about the way he said it. I think it was... his last option, maybe. He said there was something he had to attend to in the west, and what's west, other than Agados? He needs your help,” I said, certain of it. “He said that he's willing to give us people back as a sign of good faith. Atthis and Galal. And he won't march on Kyrindval, if...”

“If?”

“If you give me to him,” I said, laughing flatly. “I-I just wanted to be a healer, that's all, I don't know how I got involved in all of this, and now Kouris, she was—it was an accident but they hurt her, a-and...”

Claire placed a hand on my arm, keeping me steady.

“Breathe, Rowan,” she said gently. “Take your time. We're all here for you.”

“That's not all. Katja's working with him, too,” I said, cracking the knuckles of one hand, and then the other.

No one said anything. No one looked at each other. Claire's hand moved from my arm to my wrist, fingers edging down to entangle with my own. With a burst of movement, Akela rushed to her feet, holding her chick out in cupped hands.

“Northwood! You are not yet meeting Milly, and I am thinking you will feel better if this is changing, yes?” she said, and I didn't have the heart to tell her we'd been introduced yesterday.

I let go of Claire's hand to take the chick in my palms, using a thumb to gently stroke the top of her head.

“We need to discuss our next move. All of us. That means going to Kouris and taking Michael with us,” Claire said. “We can't afford to waste time.”

We came across Michael on the way out of Kyrindval, and he managed to bite his tongue long enough for us to make it to Kouris and Kidira. They were still a distance from one another, and Kidira had been in the process of rising to her feet when she spotted us. She remained where she was, and Akela jogged over to Kouris, placing her free hand on her shoulder.

“You are okay, yes? I am hearing that something is happening, and Northwood, the orange, it is ruining her clothing,” Akela said, “I am not knowing your blood is that colour!”

“Never been better,” Kouris said, knocking a fist against the holes punched into her leathers.

“... why are you holding a bird, Akela?” Kidira asked as the rest of us settled down.

Beaming, Akela sat down next to Kidira, holding out her hand and introducing them to one another. Kidira raised her brow but couldn't quite bring herself to frown and said that if nothing else, at least Sen's gifts were unique. We watched them speak, grasping for seconds throughout which we didn't have to think to the future, and when Kidira noticed us staring, she said, “Well. I suppose we're leaving Kyrindval behind.”

“What?” Michael demanded. “What did I miss?”

“Prince Rylan plans to march on Kyrindval if Claire doesn't surrender and we don't hand them your sister,” Kidira said bluntly. “We've a month to draw their attention elsewhere.”

Michael turned sharply to look at me, and he didn't need to say anything. I already understood what was on his mind, what was on everyone's mind; sooner or later, I was always forced out of whatever home I'd made, ruining things for those closest to me. I was almost relieved that Rylan had set his sights on Claire, as well.

“Are we going to Thule?” I asked.

“I don't see that there are many other options,” Claire said. “Sen, you're more than welcome to stay here. So long as the humans leave, Kyrindval ought to stand a chance, and Thule will pose more danger than I can rightly ask you to face.”

Sen sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to make herself small, and had been intent on keeping quiet with so many people surrounding her. For a moment, the words didn't come to her. She ran her forked tongue across dry lips, fangs chattering together, and with her eyes closed, managed to speak.

“I c-can't—won't leave you now, Mar... Claire,” she said, nodding decisively, “I'm with you, for as long as you need me.”

Claire smiled softly and Akela beamed brightly enough for all of us, hand subconsciously moving to the axe at her hip at the thought of harm coming to Sen.

“Alright. Looks like we'll all be heading off together,” Kouris said, and Michael scowled at the sky. “Best not to be rushing into anything, though. We're safe, for a few days. There'll be plenty of planning to do, and I'm not about to be leaving the pane like this. Everything we're trying to fix, the territories and Felheim and gods know what's happening in Agados, none of that means a damn thing if we aren't looking out for the pane, too. We've gotta get 'em their land back.”

There was a general ripple of agreement throughout the group. Fixing half a continent was already an impossible task; returning the pane's territory to them hardly made it any more daunting. Only Michael had anything to say on the matter.

“... is that really a priority?” he asked. “Not that I'm saying it isn't important, per se. But these past two years, humanity has been suffering, and it is the humans who need their homes rebuilt, order restored to their lands. All the while, life has gone on as normal in Kyrindval, save for any trouble we've brought with us. It just seems that our resources, limited as they are, would be better spent elsewhere.”

“Life's been going on as normal, has it? I suppose life's been going on as normal, these past fifteen hundred years, aye? The pane living up in the mountains, that's normal. They haven't been suffering, haven't been chased out of the towns they do visit, kept out of inns and shops alike. They haven't had rules imposed upon 'em by your sort, and they definitely haven't suffered along with Kastelir,” Kouris said, gaze skidding over to Sen. “Two years you've been here, Michael, and you still sound like most of the humans out there. What would you suggest? We wait another few centuries for your lot to stop bickering for five minutes?”

“Kouris, that's not what I'm saying. Nobody understands what's been taken from the pane better than I do, and—”

“Nobody understand better than you do?” Kouris asked. “That so?”

Michael snapped his jaw shut, unwilling to say anything more that could be rightly twisted against him. Nothing more was said, after Kouris and Michael's exchange. Kouris was right about not rushing into things, about using the next two days to plan carefully, and Kidira headed back to Kyrindval without aiming a goodnight at anyone. Michael left when the coast was clear, when there was no chance of running into her, and Akela walked Sen home a few minutes later.

I put my arms around Kouris, kissed her forehead and told her how glad I was that she was alright, and went with Claire back into the tribe, wanting nothing more than for Thule to be our last stop.

I would've slept all day, had Maedir not sought me out. She rapped a fist against the door and I was grumbling for her to come in before I'd waken up in earnest.

Maedir fiddled with the golden sash of cloth slung over her shoulder as I pushed myself into a sitting position, fangs worrying into her upper-lip.

“Something wrong?” I asked, scrubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“Rowan, you're a... necromancer, aren't you?” Maedir asked, ears twitching.

“That's me,” I said, already wanting to sink back under the covers. “Why? Are the soldiers back?”

Maedir waved her hands in front of her, and hurried to explain that, “It's not anything like that. There's a... dragon, out in the fields. With the others. But he's... half dead? I think. He keeps whining. I thought you might know something about that.”

“Oak! That's Oak.”

I was on my feet in an instant, hopping into my trousers as I followed Maedir out of the cabin. Of all the pane I lived with, Maedir worked the most demanding hours, and I'd barely seen her at meals. My departure might've been imminent, but I still wanted to learn more about her, and few things made me as cheerfully talkative as knowing that Oak was waiting for me.

“You work with the dragons, don't you?” I began, spotting the broach pinned to her collar. “So why have a wolf for your sigil instead?”

Maedir tapped a claw against the wolf's metal snout and said, “The dragon isn't that popular, anymore. Not since Kouris.”

“Oh,” I said, having to push myself up and over a rock Maedir hardly noticed as she went.

“How is Kouris, by the way?” she asked, grinning slyly at me. I hesitated, not sure whether I ought to have been denying her presence a stone's throw from the tribe, and Maedir said, “I saw her come through Kyrindval the other day. We used to be friends, you know! Learnt to write and read together.”

“I bet she'd like it if you visited her, then,” I said, and Maedir seemed to consider it.

The pane and dragons had thrived together for so long by respecting each other's lands when the humans would not. The pane never fished or sailed in the enormous lake the dragons had claimed for their own, and only young, unruly dragons ever snapped up cattle from fenced-in areas. There were two areas set aside for both dragons and pane around every tribe: a steep mountainside where the remains of dragons and pane alike were left to return to the ground, and an open, rocky plateau where dragons left knocked-out teeth for pane to salvage the seeds within, and pane worked to heal sickly dragons.

Maedir made short work of the miles between Kyrindval and the area she called the sca-sino, and I stood at the top of the slope, marvelling at it. It was big enough for two dozen cabins, and boulders had been dragged onto the hard ground, in order for dragons to cling to and gnaw at. An old kraau was curled up at one end, chest rising and falling as it napped in the sunlight, trusting the pane to take care of its young.

The newborn kraau weren't much bigger than horses. They fidgeted, but otherwise remained patient while the pane ensured that their scales were hardening at the right rate and helped one of the dragons who'd sprained its wing stretch it out. Goats were tied to posts, and a handful of pane were encouraging the young dragons to pounce and take a bite out of them, helping them learn how to hunt.

“Are there ever any accidents?” I asked, watching a kraau scramble up another's back and wrap their winged arms around its long neck. The other lashed beneath it, rolling onto its side as it kicked it off, diving at it in return.

“Of course. The tailors and carpenters and builders and cooks all have accidents, too,” Maedir said, leading me into the sca-sino. “We just make sure to have a little more bitterwillow stocked than anyone else.”

As Maedir led me between the boulders, I saw claw and tooth marks dug into them. Some of them had been melted into the ground by the dragons' first attempts at fire, and I was on the verge of picking up the pace when one of the young kraau spotted me and, having never seen a human before, flung itself backwards and rolled behind one of its siblings.

Oak was at the edge of the sca-sino, keeping his distance from the old kraau. He'd fallen on his front, chin propped up on his paws, and was whimpering listlessly. Two pane stood in front of him, holding out chunks of meat and scratching their heads when he only whined louder.

“Good morning, Oak,” I called, waving a hand to garner his attention. He shot to his feet with such force that the pane looking over him took a wide step back, dropping the meat in the grass. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, grunting. Maedir left me with Oak, no doubt expecting answers later, and the other pane headed off with her. He pressed the end of his snout to my chest, shirt ruffling as he huffed, and I ran my nails between the gaps in his scales.

“Did you just miss me?” I asked. “I wouldn't blame you. It must get pretty lonely out there. I don't think anyone would you mind staying here, you know. Look at all these other dragons!”

Oak's tail swished from side to side, and a low, agreeable rumble from the back of his throat rattled through me.

“That way, I'd always know where you were, and you'd get to meet Claire,” I told him. “I think she'd like that.”

Oak had been subdued, until I'd mentioned Claire's name. Shooting to his full height, back arched, Oak knocked me over without meaning to, and I found myself on the ground, pinned down with a dragon's maw inches from me chest. His eyes were wide and searching, and he pushed his nose against my collarbone over and over, demanding an explanation.

“... Claire's alive,” I said, placing my hands on his muzzle in an effort to keep him calm. “Did I forget to tell you?”

He grunted indignantly, and finally took a step back. I put a hand on the ground, about to push myself up, and made a point of pretending the tongue he wrapped around my wrist was solely responsible for getting me back to my feet.

Sitting down on his hind legs, Oak tilted his head to the side, wings folding neatly behind him. He growled in a way I hoped meant he was confused and nothing more, and I found a nearby boulder to scramble on top of and put us at the same level.

“Claire's alive. She's here, in Kyrindval. Kidira saved her,” I said, and Oak's nostrils flared. “Right? But I can bring her to see you, when she's not busy. Would you like that?”

Fangs flashing through the hole in his jaw, Oak beat his discoloured tail against the ground.

I hadn't put all the pieces together the last time we'd met, but whatever I knew when I brought him back, Oak knew, too. I gave him a moment to absorb the information, and when he didn't slump onto the ground or threaten to fly off, I moved carefully to his side, brushing a hand across the larger scales.

“Do you feel like going somewhere, Oak?” I asked.

I'd be in Thule before I knew it. If I didn't take the chance now, who was to say when I'd never have this much time to myself; when I'd be able to move as freely again.

Oak had no objections, but I took care when climbing onto his back. The wound at his side was poorly patched over, and though it'd never hurt him or do any harm, it'd never heal, either. He was still skittish, tensing involuntarily as I used his scales to pull myself up, low growls rattling inside his chest as he pressed his body close to the ground.

“Shh, shh,” I said, reaching forward to stroke between his horns. “Ready?”

Oak knew where to head without a word from me. Setting off at a sprint, he beat his paws against the ground, wings stretched out wide, and pushed the ground away. It wasn't any less startling the third time; I clung to the base of his wings, heart tumbling into the sole of my right foot, stomach up in my throat. I smiled through what didn't quite register as fear, and glanced down to see every pane and dragon in the sca-sino stare up at us, bemused.

One of the young kraau was curious enough to aim skyward, wings flapping far too hard and barely keeping him aloft. He caught up with us, tail snaking behind him, but before he could entice Oak into some game, his energy all but deserted him and the ground welcomed him back. The kraau cried out and the elder wilfully ignored him.

The colours of Kyrindval, the reds and yellows of overgrown wildflowers and shiny sides of chipped rocks, faded from my sight, replaced by the rich browns of wood and dirt alike, and the endless greens of grass and leaves. The pattern repeated itself as we rushed over and between the mountains, wings folded back so Oak could dart through canyons, but once we soared over the wall, I'd already forgotten more shades of brown and green than there were colours ahead of me.

The Bloodless Lands remained without shadow, pure white under the sun and moon alike, and hadn't felt the slightest urge to rearrange themselves after my intrusion. Without Kouris and Kidira, without anyone who wasn't made of the same things I was, I no longer had to confine myself to the outskirts of Myros. Cities greater than those close to the mountains rose to greet us, and within minutes, I looked back and saw nothing but everlasting disquiet around us.

“Look at this all,” I mumbled to Oak. “How many people do you think lived here? Millions? And all of them ran away, or...”

I couldn't bring myself to say that they'd died in Myros. There was a stillness to the air that wasn't stifling, and the ground was far from soaked in the memories of war; for all my abilities, for all my powers had grown, of late, I couldn't convince myself that so much of a drop of blood had been spilt there.

Oak followed roads marked clearly in the frozen grass, and when I saw shapes scattered across them, I had him fly closer to the ground. The roads were covered in carts, some on their sides and others turned over completely, but there was no sign that people had ever been there, or indeed animals. A bridge as wide as the ravine behind Orinhal crossed a river that had once been as deep as the ocean, and I pictured myself wandering into every tower and house we flew over.

Beds would still be made, covers immovable. There might be plates on the table, cups in the sink; chairs would've been pushed under tables or not, and frames of layers upon layers of white paint would hang from the walls; but there wouldn't be a single sign of the people who'd once lived there.

“Maybe it goes on forever,” I said, teeth worrying into my lower-lip.

The Bloodless Lands weren't timeless, but they were lost to time. The sun was still high, and this was the only thing that let me know how long Oak and I had been out there. Not wanting to linger for days or weeks without realising it, I narrowed my gaze at the horizon, forcing my destination to the front of my mind.

Part of me had gone in search of the flicker of light I'd seen against the horizon, but with the sun making the tops of clouds glow, it was lost to me. Only knowing that it was in the distance, I had Oak push on, until I was convinced it must've been a trick of the light. The first time I'd seen it, I'd been close to the mountains, but they'd vanished hours ago, and I was no closer to my destination.

“We should turn back,” I told Oak.

Glancing back at me, he huffed, beating his wings harder.

“Or we could go faster. That works too.”

Within minutes, I had no words for how deeply I regretted so much as thinking of turning back.

A city that could've swallowed Isin and Chandaran whole opened up before us. It had to be the heart of Myros. The capital's name escaped me, but I knew beyond knowing that it was where I was supposed to be, where I belonged.

A golden light emanated from the very centre of the city, and without a word from me, Oak began his descent, landing on the outskirts. There was no wall around the city, but there were gates, dozens of them, a hundred feet high with statues framing each corner.

I tilted my head back, staring at the armoured woman with her legs and an arm wrapped around one post, holding out a broken spear to the pane who rested a hand easily atop the other side of the gate. They clung to the gatepost with one foot, claws acting as a vice around what had once been steel. Luckily for me and Oak, the gate had been left open.

I promised myself I'd circle the city, taking in the other statues at the other gates, but let curiosity and awe draw me inwards. The streets were more than wide enough for Oak to comfortably trundle through, and I saw, from the grooves between slabs, that the streets had once been paved in mosaics shaped like the sun and stars. I knelt down, tracing my fingers along the edges, barely able to stop and stare at any one thing for more than a second.

I was already beginning to notice patterns, curved, repeating shapes running around doorways, across awnings, and though the twisting towers and wide, roofless shrines of Myros were unlike any of the others I'd ever seen, no two buildings looked the same to me. Businesses had come and gone, homes along with them, and when it was alive, Myros had never looked the same one year to the next; the buildings weaved together as flowers and shrubs grew around trees, vibrant even in their colourless quiet.

I walked with my eyes closed, allowing myself to believe, for a moment, that Oak and I weren't the only ones to step into the city in over fifteen hundred years.

Oak nudged my side and I blinked my eyes back open, returning to him. Words were carved into a sign running the length of the street overhead, and he slowed to a stop, staring up at it and taking a seat, tail knocking against a pile of crates.

“I should've brought Kondo-Kana along,” I said, hands on my hips. “What do you think it is? The street's name? Something to mark a festival?”

Oak scraped his claws across the yielding ground, setting off again.

“You're right. It's probably pointing towards market,” I said, letting him take the lead.

The light in the heart of the city wasn't blinding, nor was it drawing us towards it. It was beautiful in the understated way that any colour against the endless white would be, and Oak and I moved at our own pace, stopping to take in signs we couldn't read and peer through windows on the way. We lost sight of the light throughout the tangle of streets once or twice, towers keeping it away without casting a shadow.

It never took us more than a minute to catch a glimpse of it again.

“Come on,” I said, hand on the side of his neck. “Let's see what's really been burning all this time.”

With a gruff, determined sound from the back of his throat, Oak strode on.

A set of steps rose up in the centre of the city, so wide and shallow that they almost passed for a ramp. With one hand on the railing, intricate patterns repeating over and over beneath my palms, I rushed up, almost running into Isjin as the top of the steps opened up into a courtyard.

“Gods!” I said to the statue. “That's the second time you've scared me like that.”

The only difference between her and the statue in Kondo-Kana's temple was the size. Nothing else had been forgotten, from the feathers lining her arms to the knotted wood of her legs, and six of these statues stood at each entrance to the courtyard we'd reached, each one claiming a different pose.

But it wasn't the depictions of Isjin that had caught my attention, or Oak's.

Behind Isjin, colour had returned to the ground.

The flagstones were earthy reds and greyish blues, as vibrant as the day they'd been laid, with a web of painted gold running between them like veins. The columns were painted purple, darker at the plinth and lightening at the top, supporting friezes that trapped records of humans, pane, dragons and phoenixes in the form of carvings.

The columns were too close together for Oak to get any nearer, and I went on alone, staring at the clear sky above, having never seen anything so open and inviting in my life.

In the centre of the courtyard, watched over by six Isjins, was a great, perfectly carved cube of stone, so dark that I was convinced the black of it ought to have been enough to obliterate the Bloodless Lands. Flames roared from deep within it, fire so thick it was like watching melted gold drip into the sky.

Above, a statue of a phoenix perched on the arched centre of a frieze, carved talons cracking the stone, wings spread out wide.