Gort Treliving leaned on his elbow and stifled a yawn. Though a book lay open in front of him, his gaze roamed unseeing over the spines of the library books on the nearby shelves. The rain on the windows beside the table exerted an almost hypnotic state. Thunder rumbled overhead, loud enough to reverberate in his chest bone. The sensation took him back to the events of the past summer, and the extraordinary things that happened when Laurel crawled through the Men an Tol, the holed stone out on the moors.
The Canadian girl had been on a quest to gain healing for her mother, but Gort, Aisling, and Coll went with her on the journey. A small smile touched his lips, good thing all four of them hadn’t needed to crawl through nine times; it would have taken forever. He shivered with the memory of the fear that gripped him the moment the light flared around Laurel. He’d grabbed Aisling’s hand, more for his own sake than for hers. Somehow, the four of them were suspended in the night sky surrounded by shimmering crystal knights on horseback.