It was a cold day in hell when someone dared hang up on the White God, the Defender of Mankind, the Tamer of Evil.
I visited dear Tamer and spent most of the day with him and his records.
The door to the secret library was open, as if Tamer expected him.
Muscular and dark-skinned, Tamer was hunched over the table in the center of the room, putting the final magic touches on a new compass.
The keeper of ancient Immortal histories, Tamer was able to read scripts from the time-before-time.
Gabe knew without touching his mind that Tamer wasn't the one who had betrayed him.
These in the middle, I'm guessing about, Tamer said, circling half the images he'd drawn.
Lounging in a pillowed corner of the room, Tamer resembled a cross between a lion at rest and a desert Bedouin with his muscular form and loose garb.
If Tamer didn't find the tidbit of history from the time-before-time about forced soul extraction, the plan was never going to have more than a five percent chance of working, even with Wynn.
Kiki and Tamer exchanged a look while Sasha seemed to be the only one pleased by the arrangement.