Even in the cinder hearts of the most callous, there is a cusp for rapture. Even in the souls of those who would joke or spill life and death, there is a pause just long enough to be surprised by the taste of air. So it was with these pilgrims on the brink of their night. Soon they would descend into blindness, cold, and terror, but they had been given this day, this vision, and the sweet taste of rabbit flesh before they devoured the inevitable.
