![]() ![]() Against the low red light of the winter sunset, her body is white as chalk, solid against the wisps of fog and the tracery of reed. It is easy they have put her into a loose tunic. Others follow, wrapped against the cold, dark figures processing into the dusk. Chanting rises, the drums sound slow, unsyncopated with the last panic of her heart. They lead the fearful body over the turf and along the track, her bare feet numb to most of the pain of rock and sharp rushes. From deep inside her body, from the cord in her spine and the wide blood-ways under the ribs, from the emptiness of her womb and the rising of her chest, she shakes. No need to be rough, everyone knows what is coming. There will be more stones, before the end. The last cold bites her fingers and her face, the stones bruise her bare feet. Not blindfolded, but eyes widened to the last sky, the last light. Her books include the novels Night Waking, Cold Earth, and Signs for Lost Children, and the memoir Names for the Sea: Strangers in Iceland. Sarah Moss is a professor of creative writing at the University of Warwick. They join an anthropology course, and as a group build a ghost wall, leading them to a spiritual connection to the Iron Age. Sylvie and her family are living in the north of England emulating the lifestyle of the ancient Britons. The following is from Sarah Moss' novel, Ghost Wall. ![]()
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