The only man who had ever called her beautiful.
The man to whom she owed her life.
She expelled a lungful of frustrated air, gathering up her knife and stolen spear. The shaman had disappeared into his own hut by the time she slipped over the edge of the Divine Well, spear strapped to her back, fingers grasping the roots of wildgrass that sprouted between the stones. As dawn turned into day, she slipped into the darkness of the well. Descending its length was blasphemy, but it was also incredibly easy thanks to the profuse wildgrass and the bricks that poked from the earth in uneven patterns. Once these well walls were set smooth, back when the Fallen City stood proud and high, bright as the sun with all its stones set level. Centuries of shifting earth had made it a rough hole infested
