Page 368 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1
P. 368
When I looked back to the rock that once held the outline
of a stolen soul, I spied sundered stone and the ragged,
bleeding remains of a dead white witch. It was, I believe, the
Shepherd who actually killed Edith. Her name had already
been struck from his rolls, so to speak, and that could mean
only one thing. Yet, when I looked back over my shoulder
into the thick swaths of forest I’d left behind for the road,
I might have glimpsed strange lights moving in the distant
thickets.
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