It was smooth enough sailing at the start of it. They started several miles out from Merca, where a great bonfire was burning, and where several animals had been gutted and bled for sacrifice, their blood used as paints to further the ritual.
That had made Penelope's negotiations all the worse. She'd paled at the sight of the gore. Despite all that she had seen, and all the decisions she'd made, and how she'd tried to harden her heart, glimpses of the true her, beneath the shell that she'd tried to construct, continually shone through. Nevertheless, she had prevailed in her efforts.
"Devil worshippers!" Came the first of the cries from the townspeople, as a man launched a rotten apple towards the nearest woman towering on her stilts.
