20 days later, in the capital city of Camelot.
A hooded figure crouched on the rooftop of one of the buildings in the merchant quarter with the ease of someone who had grown comfortable in high places, his outline unremarkable against the stone and the bright midday sky.
Nobody below looked up. People rarely did when they had somewhere to be, and the capital had found its rhythm again.
The streets were busy and the market stalls were doing reasonable business. Children moved between adult legs without looking where they were going.
The hybrid rain had become one of those events that people discussed less and less as the days passed, becoming another event that could be filed away alongside other things that had happened and been survived.
Noah watched it all from the roof and felt none of the comfort it was apparently providing everyone else.
The hybrids present in the crowds pressed against his senses like a bruise being touched repeatedly.
