Allissa

My daughter called her monster down out of the sky, and her monster came.

The griffin never slowed. It stooped at the circle with its wings shut. Thorin stood in the stirrups the whole way down, ten years old and wrapped in rippling heat. What came off him wasn’t a boy’s fire, and it wasn’t his father’s. It was older than both, and it was furious. It struck the ward from above in the same breath that Lyra’s silver rose to meet it from below.

The two lights found each other ...