[ He hauls the bodies out. Sypha says words for them, because that's what the speakers do. And then they burn. The fire is brief, burning hotter than the church could ever manage with torches and kindling. They don't know what to do with the ashes, in the end. They just leave them there to let the wind make the decision for them.
He takes his turn to sleep. Sypha mixes a batch of whatever miracle solution it is that gets the worst of the blood out of speaker robes. He scrubs the floors with it when he wakes while she puts bedsheets outside to bleach in the sun. They destroy evidence, and he's not sure if he should be alarmed by how good at it they are.
It's difficult work, the kind that leaves no room for thinking. It's a relief. ]
We have supplies. I'll go out to hunt tomorrow, if we're to stay.
no subject
He takes his turn to sleep. Sypha mixes a batch of whatever miracle solution it is that gets the worst of the blood out of speaker robes. He scrubs the floors with it when he wakes while she puts bedsheets outside to bleach in the sun. They destroy evidence, and he's not sure if he should be alarmed by how good at it they are.
It's difficult work, the kind that leaves no room for thinking. It's a relief. ]
We have supplies. I'll go out to hunt tomorrow, if we're to stay.
[ He hasn't moved an inch, has he? ]
Are we to stay?