On the fourth day out of Riven Gate, the ground began to flower.
Iven noticed one opening beside his boot. A gray husk split down its middle, releasing a membrane so thin that the morning light passed through it. The membrane filled, trembled and rose on a thread from the stone.
He stopped.
Ahead, a hundred more loosened from the slope. Pale little bladders floated over the path, each one carrying a dark point at its base. They moved without wind, lifting from the warm ground toward the colder air above the ridge.
“Don’t catch them,” Safa said.
He lowered his hand.
“Poison?”
“Sticky.”
