January 20, 2022

That Rough-Hewn Sun

They take a circumspect path through the city, down tight alleys where seers’ familiars—moths and wasps, dragonflies and detached mandibles—can relay what they see to snipers stationed at high windows. Lussadh watches Crow, their gait, their bearing. Solid, easy. If they are aware or afraid of the snipers, they show none of it. But then they would not. Kemiraj has never welcomed an enemy emissary. The empire destroys or takes; it does not negotiate. There are no treaties—never have been. Until now.
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