Crochan, standing together in peace. As allies.
“We’ll collect the dead tomorrow,” Manon
said, her voice low. “And burn them at
moonrise.” As both Crochans and Ironteeth
did. A full moon tomorrow—the Mother’s
Womb. A good moon to be burned. To be
returned to the Three-Faced Goddess, and
reborn within that womb.
“And after that?” Petrah asked. “What
then?”
Manon looked from Petrah to Glennis and
Bronwen. “What should you like to do?”
Glennis said softly, “Go home.”
Manon swallowed. “You and the Crochans
may leave whenever you—”
“To the Wastes,” Glennis said. “Together.”
Manon and Petrah swapped a glance.
Petrah said, “We cannot.”
Bronwen’s lips curved upward. “You can.”
Manon blinked. And blinked again as
lily
(lily)
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