Chapter Ten
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Gotska SandönWhen the wind whipped up sending sediment dried by the Earth's exposed molten core into the air like an upturned blizzard, we lost the sun for the first time in too long. A world of wet, red light turned white.
“Cover your mouth,” Aurora called, pulling her cloak tight about her leaving only the flash of those brilliant blue eyes.
“It's not so bad,” I called back.
“You do not want to inhale the bones of our ancestors.”
Only then had the nature of the fine, white sediment that curtained the world in a spectral embrace, revealed itself. I did as instructed, bent low so as not to lose Merryweather's and Grella's boot prints, and took my companions proffered hand. Aurora stood firm whereas I would've crumbled in that knowledge of the deceased. She drew me on,
