Mitchell staggered out of the cave mouth into the forest’s green half light, into the scent of damp moss, the distant hammer of a woodpecker. Rand let the blade he was honing ease to his knee, the familiar weight like the support of an old friend. ‘What did the oracle say?’
‘That there’s a rainbow in the smoke,’ said Mitchell, taking up his own sword, buckling the worn leather belt.
‘What does that mean?’ said Rand, just as the scent of burning stung his senses. Somewhere a tree cracked and crashed to the forest floor. It was going to be another interesting day.