And how this snow-filled thing moved, how to describe that? It did not walk, but instead seemed to blink and flash: now to the left a metre, now forward half that. Now back a blink, then forward even further, making erratic but constant progress towards the figure on the ground behind her.
Henry glanced one last time at the broken body in the ruins of the ship. “I’m sorry,” he said, having no idea how he should feel, or what he should say.
There were no takers. Those who carried stones, stones mean to bash in a woman’s skull for their grim pleasure, dropped them to the ground.
“How did I let you convince me on this trip?” Tania asked, sweeping her hand across the barren, whitened sameness of their horizon.
“It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Henri said, managing to pull his gaze away from the spectacle and look Winifred in the eyes.
Sleep was no help. He dreamed of being with Angela, having an infinite dinner at a fancy restaurant.
“I am not incompetent!” Ginsein said to himself, unfortunately at precisely the moment when another person walked passed him with a business-like gait.
Time, in its time, can break down any wall.
She’d found the baby bird on the ground stumbling about and squeaking—which was crying for its mother, she supposed.
It was all a question of power. You feared and obeyed those with more power than you.