Duskwind Dawncopper Thicketfold Captainward (English Edition) baixar epub

The wind that swept across the outer ridges of the Ironleaf Mountains carried a strange scent that night—half smoke, half pine sap, and beneath it, something older. It whispered through the frost-bitten branches, stirred the copper leaves that still clung stubbornly to the boughs, and brushed against the weathered cloak of the traveler standing on the precipice.
Duskwind Dawncopper had not set eyes on Thicketfold in nearly ten years. From where he stood, the forest stretched out in endless waves of bronze and shadow, its canopy glimmering under the sinking light of the sun. Once, this sight had meant home to him. Now, it looked like a memory frozen in amber—unchanged, yet no longer his.
He reached into his cloak and drew out a compass unlike any mortal instrument. Its casing was blackened brass, etched with the runes of the old wardens, and its needle spun with a mind of its own. It did not point north; it pointed home, or rather, to something buried deep within it. Duskwind closed the lid gently and exhaled through gritted teeth.
“Ten years,” he murmured. “Ten years and the forest still breathes without me.”
The words were half lament, half accusation. The forest, of course, gave no answer.
The Warden’s Road
Duskwind descended from the ridge along the Warden’s Road, the ancient trail that wound from the mountain passes to the heart of Thicketfold. Once, it had been his patrol route as Captain of the Captainward—a title he had earned with courage and lost with disgrace. His boots crunched over frost-hardened moss, and every step carried the echo of memory.
He remembered laughter—young recruits under his command singing around a campfire, the glint of copper sigils on polished armor, the scent of rain on cedarwood. He remembered a woman’s voice, steady and strong, calling him Captain Duskwind in a tone that carried both respect and defiance.
Eira Windmarsh.
The thought of her name brought a sharp pang to his chest. He wondered if she still lived within the warded walls of the city or if she, too, had become part of the forest’s legends.
As the light dimmed, the forest began to change. The trunks grew thicker, the air heavier. Strange shapes flitted between the trees—silent watchers cloaked in bark and mist. Duskwind’s hand brushed against the hilt of his shortblade out of habit. The forest spirits had always been restless after sunset, but now their presence felt angry.