【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第六章（上）(4)
Tubbo tipped his head up to the sky, letting the faint rays of dawn warm his frozen limbs. There had been a terrible storm last night, but the only traces of it today were the dewdrops clinging to grass and the mud slick beneath Tubbo’s boots. He shook himself out of his reverie.
There was more work to be done.
There was always more to be done.
Slowly, Tubbo weaved around the bustling panoply of people and carts, helping where he could—tying down boxes of supplies, feeding the horses and checking their bridles, re-righting someone’s arm sling. Anything that kept him moving. Anything that distracted him from the gnawing feeling in his gut. He looked over his shoulder at the valley behind them, expecting to see a green-clad soldier crawling across the rubble towards him, reanimated by vengeance, but there was nothing but open air and a flock of birds circling lazily overhead. Carrion crows or vultures—it didn’t matter which. They would be feasting well today.
Instinctively, Tubbo’s eyes found themselves drifting down. And that’s when he saw them.
A simple horse-drawn cart, indistinguishable from its neighbors aside from the two people stood over it like mourners at a grave: a king and a general, twins in their misery. Tubbo felt an odd pang in his chest as he realized who exactly was in that cart, who exactly they were saying goodbye to. As Tubbo watched, the king leaned over the cart, as if he was going to pull himself in with his dead. But then he pulled back, his shoulders trembling and his hands deep in his pockets. Tubbo wondered if they were shaking, too. For a moment, it seemed as if the general might reach towards the king, but instead he pulled something from his own pocket and reached into the cart. When he leaned away, his hands were empty and still.
There was more work to be done.
There was always more to be done.
Slowly, Tubbo weaved around the bustling panoply of people and carts, helping where he could—tying down boxes of supplies, feeding the horses and checking their bridles, re-righting someone’s arm sling. Anything that kept him moving. Anything that distracted him from the gnawing feeling in his gut. He looked over his shoulder at the valley behind them, expecting to see a green-clad soldier crawling across the rubble towards him, reanimated by vengeance, but there was nothing but open air and a flock of birds circling lazily overhead. Carrion crows or vultures—it didn’t matter which. They would be feasting well today.
Instinctively, Tubbo’s eyes found themselves drifting down. And that’s when he saw them.
A simple horse-drawn cart, indistinguishable from its neighbors aside from the two people stood over it like mourners at a grave: a king and a general, twins in their misery. Tubbo felt an odd pang in his chest as he realized who exactly was in that cart, who exactly they were saying goodbye to. As Tubbo watched, the king leaned over the cart, as if he was going to pull himself in with his dead. But then he pulled back, his shoulders trembling and his hands deep in his pockets. Tubbo wondered if they were shaking, too. For a moment, it seemed as if the general might reach towards the king, but instead he pulled something from his own pocket and reached into the cart. When he leaned away, his hands were empty and still.
电梯里的苏柔上瘾第六章
