I scan the horizon for the source.
I find it on the left.
Nine hundred feet out. A wall of brightness moving across the sand. White. Crystalline. Lit from inside, like ground glass with a fire under it.
It isn't drifting. Mist drifts. This is traveling—a leading edge, a body, a direction, closing on us at a speed that doesn't belong to weather.
An avalanche, not a fog…
Frost is already crawling up the dead scrub between us and it.
"RUN! WITH ME!"
I jam my heels into my Ferredon and yank the reins right—hard, toward the tower.
Behind me Oliver swears. Lola makes a sound that isn't a word. Rhayne's animal lurches into motion before she's done anything to it.
Boris said turn back at the first sign of trouble. Run.
But I remember that Boris also said the Tide Worm doesn't come near the tower. Something there repels it. Whether it'll repel this, I have no idea. I'm betting on instinct and a sentence and I'm about to find out if my instincts are worth dying for.
