“All of us turn our eyes higher, to see the...

“

All of us turn our eyes higher, to see the three-quarter moon floating in a fog-flecked winter sky—glimmering around that uneven globe, an ethereal silver circle.

“More snow coming tonight, that means,” says Liam. “A heavy fall of snow.”

“Aye,” Benedict agrees. “The new snow will cover our tracks, but it won’t cover our cart. If there’s someone coming, we should get ready for a fight, dontcha think?”

“Nah, there’s no one there,” Hob repeats calmly. “Who would be out from the village, in the woods?” Bright sparks shoot out as Hob rasps hard at his blade.

I look back at the dying fire. Cole has not moved with the rest of us to gaze up at the moon overhead, at the clouds rapidly moving in. Instead, he still scans the hillside, his mouth nervous and twitching, firelight flickering across his anxious face as he pulls aside his hood. In the faint light, I discern a faint burn on his neck, something red and unhealed, a touch of ash and pain. I see a tremble in his fingers, wide fear in his eyes.

And it comes to me that Cole knows of that night. It beats in me, in my blood.”

— from the novel SINFUL FOLK