Excerpt 2

BLOOD RAVEN’S LAST BATTLE PRINCE
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Below a hill, Machraith dismounted, running his cold, skinny fingers through bunches of canary yellow goldenrods while inhaling all the sweetness his land had to offer. Wolfing down the last of the wild strawberries he’d picked, his stomach still rumbling with hunger, Machraith pushed forward.

He had to find his brother, to fight with him in battle, to protect him in battle.

Finding trampled bell heathers on the other side of an old Roman ruin laced in purple ivy-leaved toadflax, he lifted his eyes to the whistling winds carrying the lone cry of a man. Walking a few strides more to the direction of the cry, Machraith stooped to the swaying grass, sliding his young fingers along a blade of grass where cold blood ebbed in a creeping, ceaseless movement.

He was too late.