Book One – Chapter 1

A mortal rain of splintered glass and a desert attempting to boil him alive did not leave much inspiration for the wonders of such art.

Still.

Standards mattered.

You might argue that he should have been content with a crude construction, just some throwaway-creation that got them through the onslaught of blades from above; an umbrella turned shield. A perfectly fine argument, if you so wished to be insolent, in the moments before being cut apart by the weather, or perhaps by Yves himself, should your insolence sufficiently impress him.

Yes, yes, Yves knew perfectly well that he needed to conserve his strength. But he also believed that after weeks of sleepless trudging through an energy-starved wasteland of dirt and dust, with the added indignity of doing it all at a Witch Mother’s command, he had more than earned one small break, one breath of pride.

For Yves, there was a pride in what he did.
Even if no one was watching.
                                 Or judging.
 

                   Well.

          Midnight was watching.
                           And she was also judging.

                 Always.