Every night around 1 a.m. Earth-clock, I'd see the shadows of the camp's dead children on the windows as they walked by in silent single-file.
my hare-heavy boat tilting into summer / all the way to the dry shore and the joyful leap
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Indrapramit Das's "A Moon for the Unborn."
