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DAY 43
The plains of eastern Tarnadon seemed to go on forever, a sea of grass that ran all the way to the distant horizon. A ceiling of thick clouds loomed overhead, threatening rain but never delivering.
Melissa stood on a hill in black pants and a gray work shirt, her dark hair braided in a tail that fell past her shoulders. The billed cap on her head was unnecessary. She hadn’t seen the sun for days.
Turning away from her study of the plains, she proceeded down the hill to a small farmhouse with a red barn at the edge of the property. The latest hideout for the fledgling resistance movement.
She could see Jef and Shona at the fence, both in overalls and straw hats. To anyone who happened to pass by, they would seem to be performing a routine inspection, but in reality, they were
