Saturday, October 10, 2009
Credent rolled his eyes. He turned towards the corn field behind them. It was late October and the corn field was covered with stubby stalks from the summer’s harvest. A cool breeze sporadically whisked brown leaves into the air. Dusk had fallen and the new moon not quite risen to light the empty fields, but you could see them if you looked closely. Hundreds of pale eyes staring back between the stalks. They were the unchosens—those not claimed by either side, too bad to be good, and too dull to be of much use. Credent glided into their territory and all but three cowered away from him.