But it didn’t feel like a miracle to Sancia. This glittering metal in the channel mud represented the whole of her life’s savings.
asked Clef.
she said wearily.
She looked back and saw a dark figure running along the channel toward her—the third man from the fishery building, probably. He must have been the one to fire the shot. He cried, “She’s over there, over there!”
“Damn it all,” said Sancia. She staggered to her feet and sprinted up the hill and off into the Greens.
Sancia ran blindly, thoughtlessly, drunkenly, hurtling through the muddy lanes, her head still spinning from the scrived bolt. Clef chattered madly in her ear as she ran, spitting out directions:
She dodged and turned to avoid them, running deeper and deeper into the Greens, her chest and legs aching with the effort. She knew she couldn’t run much farther. Eventually she’d stumble, or collapse, or they’d catch up to her. she thought. She was close to Foundryside by now, but that didn’t mean much. Foundryside Commoners would sell her out in a heartbeat.
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