Before he
heard the screams, shattered wood, or wrenched metal, Aedan felt a sudden pulse—a shudder in the ground. When he
turned, the scene was still in motion, but eerily slow, startling him almost as
much as what he saw.
Broken horses writhed on the street,
tethered still to the omnibuses. Their drivers could not be seen, having been
thrown from their perches during the collision. A wheel spun. Arms waved from
the toppled coaches, the passengers' desperation painfully evident. Where one car ended and
the other began he could hardly tell at a glance.
Traffic halted all around, the
sudden congestion nearly spawning more accidents. Solitary riders slipped past
the wreckage and carried on their way unfazed.
Monday morning and already some
people would not live to the end of the day.
The crowd was quicker to relate
their account of the incident (and assign blame to both parties in equal
measure) than to aide those trapped within their would-be transports.
Aedan stood there too, sickened, and
paralyzed with inaction. He knew Kyla traveled uptown on a similar omnibus at this
very moment. ‘She could just as easily be the victim of such a tragedy.’ He
could keep her fed and clothed and safe from their father, but against the
sudden ill wind of fate he was powerless.
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