“Stay away from him, Miriel! He’s a killer! Can’t you smell other people’s blood on him?”
That’s what I tried to say. All that came out was a bunch of barks and growls. I smelled danger. The fur rose on my back, and I tried to warn Miriel to stay away, but I knew she
A Dwarf could never be the Chosen One.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I down my third mug of hot fizzleberry juice in the Questers’ Lodge. My feet ache from my last Quest, and the juice slowly warms my insides.
Outside, trumpets toot a familiar tune. The next Quest Call.
“Boy!”
I groan and pull my sleeping bag over my head. Something pokes me in the back.
“Boy! Why are you sleeping on my porch?”
The raspy voice and insistent poking finally force me back to reality. I sit up and collide with a fluffy, slobbery lump of dog. A wrinkled face gazes
Footsteps creak across the upstairs floorboards, and I crack open an eye. Golden sunlight spills through the oversized bay window and across the fluffy white carpet. My tail wags. It’s my favorite time of day—one we never miss.
The air shimmers.
Miriel’s footsteps are no longer above. She’s sliding into her armchair
Lyra’s greatest desire was to write a story worthy of Miriel Takkenridge.
Three years ago, when Lyra first moved to Bridgewater Falls as an aspiring writer, Miriel took her in. Since then, she had shared the magic in her life with Lyra.
Like the bookshelf that sometimes opened to distant lands. Or the meringue
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