Malzareth crossed the pull slower than Ythera had, cautious in a way that felt earned rather than reluctant, and when Monster Paradise finally settled into place around him, he simply stood there for a long moment without saying anything at all.
Three suns hung low and warm over rolling grassland, and the air carried none of the ash he'd breathed for four centuries straight. He lowered his massive head, nostrils flaring twice, testing the wind like he didn't quite trust it yet. Grass bent flat beneath the weight of him, and somewhere distant, a bird kept singing without once stopping to acknowledge the mountain that had just arrived beside it.
'No smoke,' he said, more to himself than to John. 'I had forgotten air could taste like anything else.'
"Take your time," John said. "Nobody's going to rush you."
