By the time Barclay swiveled around to assure Viola that Tadg didn’t really mean it, Viola had huffed and stomped away too.

Barclay looked down at Root. He had an unpleasant flash of the three of them eight years in the future, except instead of Runa and Cyril dueling one another, it was Viola and Tadg.

“They’ll come around, right, buddy?” Barclay asked.

Root only hung his head.

But if grown-up Viola and Tadg famously hated each other, where would that leave Barclay? An anxious voice warned him that he wouldn’t be a Lore Keeper at all. He’d live in a grimy cave in a place not on any maps. Never able to control his Lore. Belonging nowhere.

“Do you want to go for a run?” Barclay asked Root, eager for a chance to clear his head.

Root wagged his tail. He never said no to a run.

“Then let’s go.”

They started off walking. Then, before they even reached the edge of town, they began to jog. As soon as the cobblestones faded into dirt roads, they broke out in a sprint. Faster and faster, until Munsey lay far behind them, and there was nothing but sheep and cattle and grass stretching on and on.

Even before Barclay had bonded with Root, he’d been a fast runner. But now that he was a Lore Keeper, he was capable of so much more.

Soon the breeze rushing past went soft and still as a whisper. Beside Barclay, Root’s black fur wisped around him in smoky coils. Like if you reached out to touch him, you’d be grasping at air.

Barclay was no different. His sweater blurred. His body felt lighter, as though his boots barely grazed the ground. And his hands had gone slightly see-through.

Barclay hollered, and Root howled next to him.

They were running so fast, they had become the wind.

In minutes they reached the Isle of Munsey’s beaches, and they raced along the edge of the water, where the sand was firm. They passed dunes and fences, buoys and fishing boats. Sleábeaks nested in the grass, far calmer than the ones that had attacked Knunx. The waves rippled with every color to match the sunset—red and blue and orange, as though the Sea was aglow; then gradually everything darkened into the black of night.

Only then did the two of them slow. They were both tired. And they’d spotted a figure in the distance, surrounded by flashes of bright light.

“What is that?” Barclay asked.

Root strode ahead, and Barclay followed, panting to catch his breath. They climbed to the peak of a hill and watched the figure below. It took Barclay a few moments to recognize the blond hair as Yasha’s, and the flashes of light as fire dancing around his chest and fingertips. Beside Yasha, Motya watched, her tail entirely transformed into flames.