XI | White Fountain
The ravens squawked furiously as they exploded into flight, shattering his reverie, and converged upon Shekalane’s crumpled form—precisely as would buzzards on some carcass.
He took a step forward as they begun to tear at her flesh, but the prefect stayed him with a gloved hand. “Remember who you serve, ferryman,” he warned, “not how you serve.”
That’s a coward’s way, Dravidian.
He watched aghast as the ravens dug their beaks into her hair, her face, her body—everywhere the dust had settled. She smacked at them savagely and one of them fell upon its back on the boards, its legs kicking wildly. “Dravidian!” she screamed. “Please!”
He gazed down at her through the slanted eyelets of his mask.
“She knows thee by name,” said the prefect. “That can be forgiven, ferryma
