She's quiet as she leads them to the stairs, up floor after floor until the light changes, until they can step out to the soft earth under the dome, into the mottled, shaded morning sunlight.
. . . light of a sun still young, not even grown enough to chase the morning cool from the air, or to strip the fallen dew from grass and tree, from the ashes and remains of the Long Night bonfire.
She sits against the dome's edge, one arm raised to shield her eyes from the light.]
no subject
She's quiet as she leads them to the stairs, up floor after floor until the light changes, until they can step out to the soft earth under the dome, into the mottled, shaded morning sunlight.
. . . light of a sun still young, not even grown enough to chase the morning cool from the air, or to strip the fallen dew from grass and tree, from the ashes and remains of the Long Night bonfire.
She sits against the dome's edge, one arm raised to shield her eyes from the light.]