Chapter 15
I wash down a piece of traveling bread with some water. It’s time for our group therapy session. Since our hurried escape from the city—no fatalities, but there are a few Church soldiers who might never walk again—Irian’s decided this will help. My teeth hit something soft. This bread is certainly distinctive.
The endless apoks stretch to the horizon, their gray bleached white under the sickly moonlight. The wind’s howl is muted by the road shelter’s walls, but still covers up the argument inside our tent.
The mystery mouthful proves resistant to chewing. I clear a space in my traveling scarf and spit it out. I don’t want to know. Irian had enough contacts that we were able to stock up on our way out, but that was mostly because everyone wanted us gone as soon as possible. Wo
