Silence

Cage Dunn: Writer, Author, Teller-of-tall-tales

The
cold and lumpy cobbles hurt her arms. Lyra held the moan inside, hoped the
punishment was over, that someone would come and pick her up, comfort her, let
her go home again. She wanted only to get warm, find proper clothes to don, and
shoes – good warm socks inside thick leather boots to thaw her toes. A coat of
a thousand colours woven from the thick wool of the moulin-sheep of the
mountains. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, but the gloom remained
deep and heavy. The trickles of clear water, icy, were shadows between the
cobbles, black within dark grey. Icicles clung to the colourless drab sack that
hung on her slight frame.

It
was so cold she couldn’t hear – nothing but the internal thrum of her heartbeat as
it slowed to stabilise the inner core of heat. The tremble in her fingers…

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