Crawlspace. Lonni Lees
work,” he gasped as he stared down at the cold, wet grave.
“No, no, it be fittin’ don’t you see?” The other man said in a strained, shrill voice. “’Tis an omen surely. He’m were put to cliff by the hand of God, like the bastard dog he were.”
“’Tis true,” someone muttered as the crowd huddled at cliff’s edge.
“So be it.”
“Amen.”
The crowd dispersed, heading down-hill to the village of Petherick, back to the safety of their cottages. At the head of the procession the green eyed woman swayed as she danced and babbled a lunatic song. Her hand stroked her belly, just starting to swell with child. Sheets of cold rain lashed at her face, gusts of wind tore at her ragged shawl as she twirled about, singing, laughing—muttering words that held the key to dark and ancient knowledge.
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