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Featuring new cover art: “Marching Off,” by Maciej Wojtala.
Meat for a blanket was no proper trade. Netta turned away from the fire, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She could make out a few of the other groups of refugees—and yes, they were watching her. Waiting for just such a sign of weakness as this.
Meat for a blanket was no proper trade.
I’m not even sure what "her moonblood" means, only that it means the moment when the girl's wolf-colored hair cascades into velvet pelt. I can't stop thinking about the way she moves, so quick and lithe. She could cross the room in one leap.
I realized in that moment that even my name is a lie.
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I realized in that moment that even my name is a lie.
From the Archives:
I am my father’s son, poisoned by the same rituals that have turned his flesh to rock.