47
As a rule, I’ve a mind for details. Names. Faces. Statistics. All are accessible to me. Then come moments like this one, where my mind records even more information. Every last scintilla of this time becomes seared into my memory: The rows of white stone soldiers fanning out from the tower like petals on a daisy … The overcast night sky … Thin tendrils of mist curling down the edges of the water wall … And the Tithe, a dusty figure with a scraggy face and mismatched eyes, who leers at me triumphantly, all while a handful of purple coins tumble to the muddy ground.
The charms hit the ocean floor and everything changes.
Long arms of ice spread out from the impact point. Lines of prickly icicles jut up from the trails they make, reminding me of so many silver blades slicing up from the
