*
Zeb stumbled backwards between the pillar tusks on the tundra, wind-milling his arms and almost hitting himself in the face with his axe. Then he hit the ground with a grunt, and soft, dewy grass tickled the back of his neck.
He was on his back beneath a blue sky supporting fluffy white clouds. He sat up, snow crunching inside his armor, but it was pleasantly warm here. He was in the woods, tall trees all around him with white trunks and verdant branches moving on the soft breeze. Water burbled somewhere nearby. Standing stones stood among the trees under the boughs, irregular gray rocks with yellow flowers blooming around them. Their polished faces were carved with lines that looked to Zeb like the old runic alphabet of ancient Danoric, the mother tongue of his native Minauan. For a moment, Zeb thought he was going to cry, though he could not imagine a reason why he would, for this was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. It felt like home and Zebulon Baj Nif, born a Warchild of the Riven Kingdoms, had never felt that feeling before.
There were two tree trunks directly in front of him, stripped of branches though they still looked alive. They were bowed wide in the middle and the tops were sharpened points, like tusks.
Do not linger. Run through the gate.
Zeb did not want to leave this place, but he did what the strange woman had told him. He had not seen her face but for some reason he thought he had known her, and he trusted her completely.
The Sable City Page 95