By Daniel Keys Moran
Jalian, a silver-eyed huntress from seven-hundred years sooner or later, travels again to the 20 th century in an try to retailer her international from the ravages of nuclear destruction. a gorgeous tour-de-force of affection and experience sweeping alongside a timeline of infinitely attainable worlds
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Additional info for Armageddon Blues
Ignorant, self-centered, superstitious, brachtats/ Jalian got a mental image of a small creature with habits that ghess’Rith found disgusting. /i retract,/ said ghess’Rith after a moment. /not brachtats. kubchi at worst/ 38 Daniel Keys Moran Jalian was shedding outer clothing. Her cloak and fur-lined walking boots were on the floor already; she sent her vest and leggings after them. She kept her tunic on because ghess’Rith’s fur was itchy. / Ghess’Rith’s lace rippled in a snort. /you try it, brighteyes/ He paused.
Ship-not-alive-which-thinks-in-numbers needed level area. / /gods and demons ... they live there. they’re scary. they eat badgirls sometimes. / /understanding be. / /not important. / 28 Daniel Keys Moran Jalian stared through the dimness of the main hall. Her gaze did not leave ghess’Rith’s now-motionless form. She took a step forward, completely unaware of the vast silence that had settled in the hall. Ralesh stirred as though she would rise, and hesitated in obvious indecision. Jalian moved forward, into the ring of firelight.
The village still bore the scars of the Battle of the Meadow. Many of the houses that had burned had not yet been rebuilt. The Armageddon Blues 37 Their loss was not felt; many of the houses that were still standing had no residents. It was not as bad now as it had looked during the summer and fall. Snow covered the worst scars of the Battle; the fact that the buried dead had made the north clearing unsowable was invisible. The monument to the dead, raised at the edge of the north clearing, was all but hidden beneath the layers of snow.