They began slowly sifting through the ruins of the village. Each building, each home, from fractured floorboards to upturned tables, telling a slightly different tale from the one prior, and yet without fail ending always the same way.
The sky had tinged to a brighter white, and Eshwlyn could see the tips of her fingers frosted over, completely numbed to any sensation, her fractal reflections in the crystal surfaces showed her nose inflamed to a deep red, —yet onward, persisting—she followed Wilvur into another building, hearing his deep imposing echoes carry through the many empty rooms within.
