Isadora's POV
The wind up here did not care about anything.
It came in sharp and cold from across the valley and hit without warning, pulling at my hair, pressing against my clothes, moving through everything like it owned it. I had always liked that about this cliff. The indifference of it. The way it treated everyone exactly the same regardless of who they were or what they had lost.
I stood at the edge and looked down.
The pack spread out below me in the dark. The village with its small stone houses and their warm windows. The paths between the buildings where children ran during the day. The market square was sitting quietly now at this hour. Smoke rising from chimneys in thin lazy lines. Lanterns glowing softly and orange behind glass.
I had walked those paths for years.
