We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
Chapter 11
Chapter 11 Some of us suffer a great deal From having our senses dulled In the face of all the sorrows Which these war years Have brought with them. . —Dietrich Bonhoeffer . MIKHAIL Here in the desert, water is the source of life. Without it, a man can die quickly, and an Angelic, with our souped-up metabolisms, can die even quicker. It's one of our few weaknesses, an Angelic's ungodly need for water. Before Shahla stabbed me, I could carry my own weight plus supplies, but now it's all I can do to remain airborne for more than an hour before I collapse, my wings trembling with weakness and pain shooting down into my damaged lung. There is nothing out here to sustain me. No water. No prey animals. No greenery. No life. Not even the Halifian tribe dares wander beyond this point.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD