F. FEARN: ALDER
He saw the bird fly. I was going to tie a message to its leg but he was running up the corridor and I had to let it go quickly.
It scraped out through the cracked window and fluttered into branches.
He went quite still when he saw the broken glass. A branch reached in like a hand; even as we watched, it was growing inside, and the leaves on it were unfurling like they do in a speeded-up film.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
The window splintered and fell in.
“The first caer is breached,” he whispered.
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