Happy Boxing Day, everyone. I’m between Christmasses two and three (Christmas Day with my parents and brother, today visiting all the grandparents, and my sister and small nephews on Monday). Handily enough, my quiet day coincides with a Rainbow Snippets Day, so have another little bit of Resistance (due out on Tuesday, eep!). This is about six weeks after the rats start dying and from one of my favourite chapters, as the plague grips the city of Taila.
Taila was turning white, the snow falling in a lazy, threatening dance. The air was hushed, as if even the tears of the dying had frozen.
In the street below, he heard the creak of wheels, the thin snow groaning beneath the weight of a cart. At the horse’s head, its driver rang a slow bell, his voice drifting up through the quiet.
“Bring out your dead!”
Hearing it, Iskandir realized that he could no longer hear rasping breaths from the bed behind him.
A bleak midwinter, indeed.
©Amy Rae Durreson 2015