Dindi

Each breath hurt.

Voices from the darkness had been complaining about feelings of suffocation since the stone had been rolled over the exit, but now it was no figment of a nervous imagination. The air smelled rank. Dindi had thought thirst would kill them before hunger, but it seemed asphyxiation would beat out both. No one could deny it now: they had been abandoned to die. Quiet weeping echoed from somewhere. No one hushed or chided the weeper.

What had happened to the Tavaedies? Did they lie dead in heaps from war or plague, or had they chosen to sacrifice the children to the Deathsworn for some dark purpose? All the theories had been advanced, hashed and rehashed, debated, refuted and revised. They still knew nothing, except that they were going to die.

“Dindi, I don’t feel well,” Gwenika said. She sounded awful.

“You have to hold on.”

“I don’t think I can.” Even more breathily, “I’m not sure I want to. I’m so tired of fighting. I just want to let go.”