The sky should have been alive with lanterns, with soft lights drifting like sleepy stars. Instead, the only things rising were sparks. The flames that should have lifted the lanterns now ate the village whole. They stretched as far as sight could go, greedy and bright and terribly alive.
Vencian, with Roselys and Reine at his heels, trudged through the wilderness until the village appeared — or rather, what was left of it. The air was thick with smoke.
"This doesn't look like an accident," Vencian muttered.
Roselys' eyes narrowed. "It isn't. People might still be down there. We move. Now."
"Move where? The fire's swallowed everything."
"Maybe the eastern houses. They're close to the stream. Ms. Perdil might still be alive."
Vencian gave a groan but followed. The exit's that way anyway, He thought, breaking into a near jog.
The houses looked like wax left too near a flame. Roofs sagged, beams hissed, the air shimmered with heat.
