This is a except from my upcoming novel "Mark of the Lonemen".
This is not quite what I promised earlier this week, but I like it, so I was certain that my followers wouldn't mind.
I hope you enjoy.
The cold wind tore savagely at her slick cheeks. Her chest hurt, the flayed skin of her wound catching on her shirt. She felt utterly empty, hollow. She looked back at Marca, his handsome face. Kesh took a deep breathe, and rose unstably to her feet. She was numb, her body cold and aching. She wiped her dripping nose with her sleeve, and steeled her nerves.
Retrieving the sword, she slipped beside the opening of the tent, peering out into the pale moonlight. Several armed men moved through the village, torches cutting through the darkness. She didn’t recognize the armour, but one man caught her eye, a leader of some sort, wearing a vest that seemed to contort his figure. He was speaking quietly, like a father to his sons.
“... And once they are... burn them... no remains...” She made out, her erratic breathing making it hard to hear. They had attacked, and probably killed everyone.
Except me, she thought.
If you like this, I may just post a little more later...
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