As Kaelen reached the 10,000-foot mark, the Rar' began to speak. The wind didn't howl; it vibrated, humming a low, rhythmic frequency that settled in his marrow. Then, the shadows began to move independently of the light.
"I bring the heart of a brother," Kaelen replied, gasping for breath. "I come for the Weaver." Dienegdfg rar
is a name whispered only in the deepest trenches of the Rar' mountain range, a place where the air is so thin it tastes like cold iron . As Kaelen reached the 10,000-foot mark, the Rar'
