The Sun, Rising flew through it all, unharmed by the ancient images of death and destruction.
Back in the city, the square was filled with running, screaming Tok people. The Morn were there too, falling from the sky like swooping black birds, countless thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, finding out each living Tok and overwhelming them. Each time, the Tok individual fell to the ground, rolled or twitched a few times, and then was still. It took only a few moments for each to be killed. Or, perhaps, devoured. The ground became littered with the fallen husks of once living people, drained and aged to sacks of leather and bone. Each time the devices that had clustered upon a victim released their grip and drifted free to join in the gleeful surge upon the next. And the next.
Only one
