Cass

“I find this degrading.”  Cinder’s voice rumbles so Cass can feel it in her legs.

“You and me both,” says Cass, but it comes out more like Huagh a meabuagh.

They’re gaining on the thieves, whose band of horse-rats scrabbles across the barrow hills, guitars slung across their backs.  Cass still has a headache from their last battle song.  She can see the discs of sound descending towards her every time she closes her eyes.

“What did they steal again?” asks Cinder.

“Statue!” Cass manages to shout without getting bucked off.

Cinder, her wings still healing, lopes across the grass.

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