The gashes from the lion’s claws throbbed with a pain Aravis had never felt before, and the blood soaking through her tunic made it stick painfully to her back, rubbing over her wounds with Hwin’s every step, though the horse tried to be gentle; tears fell down Aravis’ cheeks, and she roughly brushed them away with her forearm, only to pull her tunic across her wounds again.

She gritted her teeth and grimaced, blinking away her tears, and she saw a hut in the distance; it was a modest dwelling, and it stood in a pool of light, light so bright that between it and her tears, the image in front of her became hazy and indistinct, and she thought she saw a city and a castle rising beyond the hut, and she whispered to Hwin to gallop faster, ignoring the pain in her back that flared anew as Hwin changed her gait.

She was coming home; it was a home she had never been to before, but she knew it was hers.