Five days and not a word.” Gleia stabbed the needle through the soft black material, pricked her finger, and jerked it away before blood could stain the cloth. Sucking at the small wound, she laid the shawl aside and swung around on the window seat where she’d taken her work to save on lamp oil, using instead the pale red light from Horli that struggled through the heavy layer of clouds. She propped her elbows on the windowsill and gazed out at the busy street below. The pattern of silver and green on the shawl heaped beside her was nearly finished. Another day and there’d be coins plumping out the limp money pouch she’d left on the table by the bed. One more thing to worry about. That and Shounach. Damn him for not letting me know whether he’s alive or dead. She was still chuckling at that absurdity when an iron bird swooped past to hover over the street. As she watched, it darted back and forth over the suddenly quiet people, then soared back to hover in front of her, humming like an outside insect, wings a foot long, moving slightly but constantly, the red light from cloud-hidden Horli sliding along crisply modeled features.
