The Rain-walker shook her head. “I’m here to meet . I need his left hand.”
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The bartender, a stout man named Thorne, eyed him warily but nodded. "You’ve come to the right place for warmth and a room. As for information, we might have some to share, depending on what you’re looking for." The Rain-walker shook her head
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The Needle of Noon had once risen three hundred feet—a spiral of enchanted glass and silver filigree. Now it was a shattered husk, leaning at a fifteen-degree angle, its interior flooded with rain that fell upward from a crack in its foundation.