Chapter 88
February: 3,389 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
MIKHAIL
Mikhail selected a long, black-brown primary feather that had sustained some damage from the pulse rifle and tugged at it, suppressing a wince, until the sturdy quill slid reluctantly into his hand. He justified the selection of a less-than-perfect feather by reminding himself it was a fitting momento, given the circumstances, and not for the more pragmatic reason that he was running out of primary feathers to get himself airborne. He placed it carefully into Varshab's cold, lifeless hands, crossed peacefully in eternal rest.
"May She-who-is grant you safe passage into the dreamtime," Mikhail whispered in the clicking Cherubim language, "and if there is a Hall of Heroes as our little protégé insists, perhaps someday I shall
