Shadowwyn Moor sun killer

She had never before seen her uncle this incensed! He spoke of these ice-walkers, these monsters, and as the knowledge was shared there came an understanding he had likely not intended.

They do not leave the ice, he said.

They kidnap, ravage, eat the flesh of wolves, of children.

Was she meant to be offended? Was it offensive to find meat upon the ice, and to consume that meat, and to live? She did not know what to think; it did not seem wrong to her. Again her mind filled with the harvest; the yawning hole in the ice, the portal to the endless nothing and the cold.

He'd said something about—Suliya? Snapping back now to the conversation, where before she was somehow in the middle of a recollection as well as here, with her uncle.

Watch her. Learn what ways are muradoii, but she knew, somehow. She knew more than she realized.

But she gave a nod, and before raising her head again after, bowed partly before her uncle, she asked in a small, childish voice: Do they... harvest? And as her head did raise, and she looked at him with worry for the first time. These man-eaters. On the ice.