Cang darts away behind the turret of the church, his movements lost to the shadows and the swaying of the braided fabric draped across the building. He leaves his compatriots, Shyan, Fassn and Abia, standing at the edge of the village square, facing up to the church.
From within, over the angry muttering and disbelieving murmurs, they hear a feminine voice, small and raspy, like those of the grey creatures from the trees. “She’s in there,” Shyan says. She staggers, puts her hands on her knees, and bends to vomit.
“That looks like fun,” Fassn says, before joining her.
“Better get antidote,” Abia says.
Cang, meanwhile, peers through a ground floor window at the back of the church. Inside is a dais, with a grey creature strapped to it, her head piled with golden curls. A human priest stands above her, chanting and gesticulating. Cang’s watching for an opening when suddenly their eyes meet. The priest’s widen just a hair before, with a furious shout, he points at Cang through the window. Cang reacts with a start and ducks.
The congregation begins filing out of the church, hands clenched into fists.
Logan Bright — Works 