The Village Without Breath
"Let's take the direct approach," Victor said.
Light floated down, snagging on his gold-colored eyes, scattering into tiny bright pieces that gave his stare a hard, polished edge. Stillness lived there. A quiet certainty. The kind found in someone long past arguing about what comes next.
"And ask the villagers what the hell is happening in this village."
Clara inhaled sharply.
She almost reached out - well, perhaps it lasted more than just fifty breaths - but she truly thought about seizing his shirt and dragging him behind her, down the slope.
Direct approach?
Beneath each house, soil held bones older than the houses themselves.
Her jaw tightened.
Out loud came her words, soft but sharp - disbelief pooling in her voice while her eyes locked onto his like he'd proposed a visit to the underworld, then added please when requesting a map.
His gaze slid toward her again, an eyebrow creeping up a touch. What kept her from saying yes?
