Her mask was wood and heavy, with a featureless circle with slits for her eyes and a very minor and uncomfortable depression for her nose. It slipped a bit, and she shoved it impatiently into place. Around her, on rows of equally awful stone benches, about thirty other scholars huddled, rubbing their hands or fidgeting with their masks. A few of them scratched on wax tablets with tiny stone styluses, then passed their notes around. So this, she thought, is the mighty and blasphemous Delmuirie Society, huh? For this I got up before the crack of dawn? Without even a nice hot cup of coffee? Bleh! I had better secret meetings than this when I was eight. It was funny that her boss had made such a big deal about the Society. She grinned beneath her mask. That was Thirk Huddsonne all over though, once she thought about it. He made fusses about the oddest things. She leaned over and patted him companionably on the shoulder. “So when does this meeting get going?” she whispered. He threw his finger over the blank mouth-region of his mask in a melodramatic fashion and bent down to scrabble around under the bench.
What do You think about Bones Of The Past (Arhel)?
