Chapter 11
Some of us suffer a great deal
From having our senses dulled
In the face of all the sorrows
Which these war years
Have brought with them.
.
—Dietrich Bonhoeffer
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MIKHAIL
Here in the desert, water is the source of life. Without it, a man can die quickly, and an Angelic, with our souped-up metabolisms, can die even quicker. It's one of our few weaknesses, an Angelic's ungodly need for water.
Before Shahla stabbed me, I could carry my own weight plus supplies, but now it's all I can do to remain airborne for more than an hour before I collapse, my wings trembling with weakness and pain shooting down into my damaged lung. There is nothing out here to sustain me. No water. No prey animals. No greenery. No life. Not even the Halifian tribe dares wander beyond this point.
