Reflection of Death

Sidney felt the darkness first, the road crunching underfoot, frozen with snow, the ice cracking on the trees far above her head, sharp and jagged shards of ice falling on her shawl. The sounds woke her from a slumber that felt more like death than sleep.

The Peddler Child

The doughy, white faces blur together so late in the day. It was astonishing that a tall, black man with dark grey eyes would stop in front of Hakim’s carpet shortly before the bazaar closed.

“I hear you carry Father Blades. Is this so?” asked the Black Man in a crisp, heavily accented English.