Exodus: The Windwalker Archive: Book 3 (Legends of Agora) Read Online Free PDF Page A

beyond. The room was not grand by any means, but it was enough, and enough was all that Gretzen had ever cared to want.
    He saw her touch everywhere, from the multitude of herbs hanging and drying above their heads, to the bones scattered and hung here and there about the room. A tapestry hung beside the bed closest to the wall, depicting the Timber Wolf Village at sundown—a testament to Gretzen’s enduring affection for her tribe.
    “This is a nice place,” said Talon.
    Gretzen pulled out a chair for him and tended the pot hanging above the fire. “Not my main stay, this is home when in city. Sun elves are generous. Though I feel curiosity motivates their hospitality.”
    “I’d love to see your main hus,” said Talon.
    “You will, soon enough. We see Azzeal then dine with queen.”
    “Is he being kept in a prison?”
    “Of sorts. Though he is own guard. His sense of duty is strong. I could speak no sense into him.”
    Gretzen set out two wooden bowls and spooned steaming gruel into both of them. To Talon’s surprise, she brought the bowls to the wide counter, where she added honey, herbs, and a thick brown substance to the bowls and stirred them vigorously before serving.
    When the steam met Talon’s nose, he smelled a different concoction than he was used to. He dipped his spoon and tasted it. Delighted, he laughed and had another spoonful, blowing it off within his mouth with a huff. “It is true!” he teased. “The elves are magic, for they have made your gruel delicious and hardy!”
    Gretzen offered him a scowl. “Elf magic got your tongue. Eat and speak later.”
    Talon grinned while he ate, noticing the smirk at the corner of her mouth.
    She followed up the bowl of gruel with a light and tasty blackberry pie. Its crust flaked in such a way that Talon became suspicious, and when his eyes met his amma’s, she admitted that it was a gift from the elves.
    “I’m learning though, mind you,” she added. “Elves have endless wonders. Their arts are many, and their expertise is all things it seems. For what can one master in a hundred lifetimes of no forgetting?”
    At that moment, Gretzen seemed to Talon like a sixteen-spring lass, an age she had often mentioned to him. It was an age when, he imagined, she was free from care, thought that she had it all figured out, and was just realizing her adult body. It was in the spring that she came of age, a spring on Volnoss as had not been enjoyed in a quarter century. The Spring of Bounty, they had called it, and many songs were still sung in its memory. For the spring of Gretzen’s birth into adulthood brought with it many strong Vald children. The summer was long that year, and the fall merciful. The winter brought cold like every other, still, it was short, and the harvest lasted well into the next spring. Even then, fish were aplenty and the waters were warm. It was the summer that she met Ragnar Spiritbone.
    Ragnar, son of Arlow Spiritbone, was a hunter of great renown. Known for barely having met the measure, he was yet a man of wide chest, with a reach once and again half that of most Vald, and a left hook known to leave many would-be challengers sprawled out in the dirt. Known for his forthright mouth and moral compass, Ragnar Spiritbone was respected by all. For he was a man of moral fortitude, and one who hinted more than once what a waste the Skomm village was. It was he, who in a rush of a drunken night of celebration declared that, “The Vald make a mistake in discarding those of weak appearance, for survival is the greatest show of strength, and what is it to survive while well equipped? Mere natural selection that be. But to survive in a harsh world when apparently weak, is it not the greater strength?”
    Ragnar’s words were forgotten by none, and recited by few, still, they were known to all.
    One summer night, a young and long-haired Gretzen had stumbled upon the Samnadr hall. The echo of a passionate man’s voice danced through the