The stonework stung her. She blinked. She couldn’t see Rhyode any longer and the barn was darker, blurry. Beyond the doors the stars hid their faces behind snow clouds. In dim light she strained to see shapes moving back and forth through the entrance. A patch of embroidery flashed in torchlight. Guards; faceless, shapeless guards hurrying to and fro. Why couldn’t she see them clearly? She rubbed her eyes to clear the smog from them. Still, she could barely make out the hunched men, their backs bent at their labours. Muttering passed over her, thick, coarse. The occasional grunt. A bird shrieked in the distance. Splashes from the river. The air
thickened with the sweetness of hay.
What were they doing? She could feel her mind sliding eagerly away from the question but it was important.
