Snippet #1966314

Imail nodded to himself. In and out, quick and simple. He could not afford to linger over his father's bleeding body when he was through with it.
"We'd better get some sleep," he whispered, pushing himself onto his feet. "Tomorrow will be chaos."

Turning, he walked out of the circle of the firelight. Briefly, he paused to watch his brother with Isabella. He could feel that Sorosillian did not sleep - likely would not sleep tonight. There was nothing he could do to help. Sorosillian was worlds away from Imail, Imail worlds away from Iliam. Shaking his head, he went to the very edge of the clearing, unhooked his cloak, and spread it across the grass. Laying himself out upon it, he was asleep in moments, the dreamless sleep of the dead at heart.
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(The next morning.)

Sorosillian had given up on sleep, at some point that night. He lay curled gently around Isabella, staring straight ahead through eyes that ached, at the side of the cart. Birdsong filled the air around him, accompanying the sunshine. It irked Sorosillian. They were too cheerful, those birds. Too cheerful for what today would bring.

On the other side of the clearing, he heard Imail stir. Listened as his elder brother came to his feet and shook the moss and spiders from his cloak. This was it. This was the end. In under an hour Imail and Jacob would ride for the palace. Before noon, if all went well, Sorosillian's father would be dead.