As Hawk looked up into the snow swirling down out of the darkness, something about it took the smile off his face. He became aware, then, of how quiet it was, except for the murmurs of the people around him. Others were lighting their own glass tapers, but the resulting glow only picked out the edges of faces, the lids of closed eyes, the hems of fabric. With the quiet of the snow and the deep darkness otherwise, the crowd ranged about him like specters, whispering about lost loved ones.

He had the uncanny impression of pale smoke--his--drifting between them like a stream. Snippets here and there caught his ears:

I hope it was over quick.

That's the worst, not knowing.

Maybe there's a chance now?

Any chance at all?

How many more?

Before it finally stops?

A mittened hand landed sharply on his arm then, startling him out of the nightmare. He looked down to see Liya, illuminated by the light of her taper, staring at his face with a frown.

She said meaningfully, "Let's go home, okay?"