[He clasps her hands in the way that a child might cup a butterfly, and he gives a gentle squeeze as his gaze too falls to the crooked row of bodies. Lying thus, the Nalawi hardly appear any different from deer claimed in the hunt, or livestock slit open at the throat that the rich blood may grace the sacrificial altar: yet still he feels sorrow's touch at the edges of his heart, for these were their hosts in this foreign land. It strikes him that Olivia alone must have gathered the bodies upon this spot, and again he squeezes the soft hands which performed a duty so grim.
Soon his hands withdraw and he goes to kneel in the sand beside the bodies. Each is sodden and smeared with a second skin of grime, through which violent wounds bloom.]
Was it truly the tempest which tore life from your limbs? Then whence did these gashes come?
no subject
Soon his hands withdraw and he goes to kneel in the sand beside the bodies. Each is sodden and smeared with a second skin of grime, through which violent wounds bloom.]
Was it truly the tempest which tore life from your limbs? Then whence did these gashes come?