“Do not come to me smelling of offal,” Elymas shouted. “Wash yourself!”
Guest Blog: Paintings by Allan
“What was the prophecy?” demanded Elymas.
“Euli said that I would walk the Shining Road,” the boy replied.
In Sartone’s day, he’d favored green, now Elymas wore a deep red, darker than the Sacred Servants.
Amil, the fattest of the lot, had been sweating profusely, large damp spots under each arm and a river running down his temples.
Quinn had a rusk sack fill with the best his poor village could offer. So proud of him they were.
Oren knew from experience that two of his ribs were broken and his fingers had been stomped.
Soon, Mirella would be all he knew of a mother, and she barely remembered her own.
Agnes has had some bad news. She feels gutted, as though all of her soft parts are in the scrap pan, waiting for the dog.
“The King steps closer to death every day. Some are big steps, others small. The tips of his fingers are black now.”