Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Viva La Vida

There are claws to her throat, breaths low in her ear. Eset does what she’s told and stills, the freight of feet fixing her to the rough floor. For a second her eyes hold Machiavelli and panic runs down into her lungs. Stars turn and somewhere above the moon creeps across the sky, illuminating the approach of Herod, pale as bone. His owl eyes are starkly luminous upon her’s. She stifles a flinch.

“He is your Prophet– but he is Pharaoh’s slave, and her army comes now to collect him.”

She dares not look again to Machiavelli, fearing it would break their rouse.