The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

Lunas calls her Faoili, to obviate difficulties. It is not pronounced how you think it is. Neither is Fethenshaugh. The morning marched on: Erdaidh and everyone in the kitchen quarreled over the arrangement of the green geese, the underservants complained of having to do the plate-laundry, the maids lamented over having to take out the arrases, Lord Cinnaide, in a flurry from having received his new knife, could not wait to show it to his friend and therefore went to town himself, to fetch him in the carriage and bring him back to the house, whether dinner should be ready in time for their arrival or not. Lunas, away from the bustle and confusion of formal visits, had begun his work for the day when Lady Faoiltiagherna approached, to wish him a good morning and cheat him out of productivity by reliving her heart of her domestic woes. She came on the wings of vexation, having spent the chief of her morning garlanding the house for a guest she was sure to disapprove. She was a sma

Look to the garden. Another fit of coughing ensued, the physician marked the seconds on his watch, holding the face up to the light with one hand while holding his patient’s wrist with the other. She spluttered and flailed, the violent motion of the dry heaves overpowering her . Twenty, twenty-two, twenty-four, the physician’s lips sibilated. The coughing continued, increasing in severity as the fit went on . Forty, forty-two, forty-four… his eye on his watch, his patient in his peripheral view, and Warryn sitting in the corner behind him, remarking the sun spill over her mother’s face, the pallid features, the cruenated lips, the sanguined and serous eyes of putrid infection. She seemed bewildered and frantic once the coughing died away, leaving behind it a strained respiration, the punctured rasp of decay. Physician continued counting, her breathing quickened, but her pulse began fading under his grasp. Panic overspread Lady Anaruyd’s face, her limbs began shaking, her lips sh