Chapter 32 The Wraiths' Hollow

• We reached the lair at dusk on the seventh day.
• The entrance was a wound in the mountainside, a black mouth ringed with ice and old blood. The snow around it was packed down, marked with the tracks of animals that had come to investigate the dead Wyrm and never left. The air smelled wrong, like copper and rot and something older, something that made the hair on my arms stand up.
• Roderick stopped ten paces from the opening. His hand rested on his sword, and his breath came slow and even. "This is it. The Wyrm's hollow."