By Gila Fine, January 22, 2015
The gods hate weakness. Khyan bit his lip, trying not to cry. The black mist around him was thick and dank. A palpable darkness. He lay huddled with his sister, shivering and hungry. They hadn't eaten in three, maybe four, days. "Mut, mut", his sister whimpered, but their mother never came. "Stop crying", scolded Khyan. "We must be strong.