Cassidhe

Heave. Swing.
Heave. Swing.
The sun was hot.
Heave. Swing.
It hung low in the sky, crimson and scorching. The heat felt like a pressure pushing down on Cassidhe's back.
Heave. Swing.
The heat and pressure travelled through her body, congealing and sharpening into a blade that lodged itself right behind her left eye.
Heave. Swing.
Cass spat, trying to rid her mouth of the all-pervasive red dust that clung to her sweat like a second skin, coarse and gritty. She could feel grains grind between her teeth when she closed her mouth, taste the endless wastelands from whence the dust came.
Heave. Swing.
The manacles bit into her wrists,opening up scars that never had a chance to truly heal. On her fingers she could feel the unpleasant slipperiness of a blister not yet popped, the top layer of skin separated from and sliding across the one below. The blisters on her palms had already burst, sending blood and fluid down her forearms with every
Heave. Swing.
Behind her somewhere in the shade were two whiteshirts, mouths covered to protect them from the dust. Disciplinary batons lounged at their waists, ready for use at a moment's notice. Cass didn't have to look back to know they were there.
Heave. Swing.
The rock in front of her split cleanly down the middle, revealing a metallic gleam. She kicked it behind herself, towards the whiteys, then moved on to a new rock.
Heave. Swing.
The pickaxe smelled of blood and sweat. Actually, everything did. Blood and sweat and dust.
Heave. Swing.
Heave. Swing.
Heave. Swing.



Nothing special this time, just an excerpt from the universe of The Fifth Citadel. What is The Fifth Citadel, you ask? Well, wouldn't you like to know.