All the survivors of owe were gathered in the largest of the fish-smoking sheds, save for the current shift of archers who watched the breakwater. There had been one hundred and twenty-six villagers the week before—now there were thirty-one.
“There were thirty-two until this m,”
the Elder said to Sabriel, as he passed her a cup of passable wine and a piece of dried fish atop a piece of very hard, very stale bread. “We thought we were safe whe to the island, but Moowart’s boy was found just after dawn today, sucked dry like a husk. Wheouched him, it was like . . . burnt paper, that still holds its shape . . . we touched him, and he crumbled into flakes of . . . something like ash.”
Sabriel looked around as the old man spoke, noting the many lanterns, dles and rush tapers that added both to the light and the smoky, fishy atmosphere of the shed. The survivors were a very mixed group—men, women and children, from very young to the Elder himself. Thei……（内容加载失败！）
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