The hill breathed through a hole no wider than Iven’s fist.
Warm air stirred the pale grass around it. Every few breaths the movement stopped, and the grass stood still beneath its coating of frost. Then something sighed in the earth and bent it again.
Kesh crouched well clear of the opening.
“That wasn’t on your drawing.”
“It wasn’t breathing when we were here.”
“Things often wait until the second visit.”
The stonecutter beside them took off one glove. She held her fingers above the hole without putting them into it, then shook her head.
“Wind. A lower mouth catches it. This one lets it out.”
