White-Feather

The horrible shnick cut across her hearing again. Three times she'd counted so far to mark time and change between night and day. It seemed to cycle forever, and she was still neither used to it nor knew what it was. Even if she could've willed herself to rise and look out the slitted window, she wasn't sure she wanted to see. Mari cracked her eyelids to glance at the thin gap from where she lay. It hurt, so did the throbbing in her skull as she turned her head. Everything felt awful these days when she was awake. Awful, dark, and cold, so cold. The draft pushing snowflakes into the cell was as bad as the frigid stones underneath sucking out any warmth. Despite the feeble light from outside, she may as well have been half-blind, the shadows were so thick. As for herself... The lines between real and imagined, her body and mind, muddled into a paralyzed mess of confusion. Mari wanted to sleep. In oblivion she could escape both the feeling and the struggle to make sense. But she

Four figures lay flat against the ledge. A blanket served as buffer against the snow bed beneath, while cloaks and wraps swaddled from the wind. They peered across the dim expanse to the black shadow on the opposing slope. Dwimmerlight outlined the bulky silhouette, while pinpricks of yellow torches distinguished windows. “So that's Xafu Fortress in the stone.” Tobias mused, squinting against the snowfall. “Stars... Who needs that many towers? Is the Count trying to catch every winter gust from the north and sea?” “'is wood-bills must stagger the mind.” Crevan growled from his shelter under Tobia's cloak. Jon peered through the spyglass, focused on the castle's front gates and foundations. What details he could pick out in the dimness, Tobias wasn't sure. But he wasn't the master in stakeouts and surveillance, so he assumed the man knew what to look for. Chuffing, he wiped a stray flake stuck to the lens. “Addaim didn't build it. His forebears did, some seven hundred-so years ago

Her head throbbed, like it had been stuffed with lead. Then hammered into an anvil several times. Everything ached, and chill-sweat broke out across her skin wherever air touched her. Mari debated moving as awareness slowly resurfaced. She swore that there'd been a time in the dark where she'd been warm, free-floating above pain. A dream outline of arms carrying her close in comfort. Returning to that phantom embrace held a siren's appeal. But a pinching tug at her midsection jolted her to waking. She sat up, punching the empty air. But sudden light blinded her, and her head spiraled with dizziness. Allowing a hand at her shoulder to shove her back down. “Hold it! Nice to have you awake, but it could have waited until your stiches were done!” “Stitches? Wha-?” Mari blinked as the world reoriented. All the sores and pains came back in full details, with recall of how she'd gotten them. The desert, her leg, the crabs, the rocks... Him... No! Hyperventilating, she started up again