The second day within Golgotha began without any grandiose.
There was no transition. No shift in the light quality of Golgotha's sky that might have marked the boundary between one period and the next. Kua had simply said at some point during the movement, "We have been traveling for a day," and the survivors had processed that information and kept walking because there was nothing else to do with it.
The number had reduced further.
Nero's passive count placed it somewhere below eight hundred now, and he had stopped refining the estimate because the margin of error had grown large enough that precision felt like mockery. The dead were behind them, absorbed into the bone field with a thoroughness that suggested the field itself was reclaiming them, and the living were moving forward with the particular quality of people who had stopped thinking past the next ten minutes.
That was dangerous.
