The Shadow-Walkers come at night.
We leave the torches burning at our front doors, all night long, We leave fires in our hearths, bright enough to touch every corner, and sleep close to it. The Nightmen patrol, check on the torches on every outside wall, and our little ricket town sleeps in a ring of ruddy light until the sun comes back over the horizon to keep guard itself. Looking out the window at night, I think I see them prowling at the edge, toes as close to the steep slope of light as they can get. Or maybe it’s a different kind of shadow. Or maybe it’s a trick in my mind.
But Curdi saw one. It was mid-morning, and the sun was painting the ground with the kind of loose, gray shadows that come and go and don’t even give a breath of relief to the workers. She…
View original post 910 more words