“Alive. She was alive! Dob the stableman knelt beside her, holding the jar of powdered silver. She coughed, lifting fingers—plump, the flesh restored—to her neck. It was hale, though ragged from the flakes of silver that had been forced down her throat. Her skin was dusted with black bits of ruined silver. “William Ann!” she said, turning. The child lay on the floor beside the door. William Ann’s left side, where she’d first touched the shade, was blackened. Her face wasn’t too bad, ...but her hand was a withered skeleton. They’d have to cut that off. Her leg looked bad too. Silence couldn’t tell how bad without tending the wounds. “Oh, child . . .” Silence knelt beside her. But the girl breathed in and out. That was enough, all things considered. “I tried,” Dob said. “But you’d already done what could be done.” “Thank you,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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