For a disconcerting moment, Farek looked at his window from his contorted position amidst bed-sheets and cushions. He was sweaty and his throat was dry and he couldn’t tell from the overcast horizon out there what time of day it was. He had overslept—of that much he was certain. There was light on the mountains to the east, in the direction of Noress-That-Was, but the city still seemed dim. Was it going to rain, at last?
“Guard,” he called, sitting on his bedside with his elbows on his knees. Continue reading Farek 6