But even without the glass, there was still sand.

Clearly what we need to defeat Shatterbird is a magical pink lion.

Anyway, I considered mentioning the sand in the intro post, but I decided “painted crystal red” was too poetic to sully with “and maybe a bit of white/yellow/brown from a sandstorm and the tannish brown of corpses, plus whatever colors are on their clothes and stuff…”

I stepped out of the way as a trio of people moved down the street, supporting each other as much as they were able.  Each of them had been blasted by the sand, their skin left ragged.

Ouch.

It had turned a bruised combination of black brown and purple where it hadn’t been scraped off and left raw, red and openly bleeding.  One looked as though he’d been blinded.  The sandburns covered his upper face.

There’s a reason one particular tool we use to remove material so we can change the texture of a surface is called sandpaper.

Two ambulances had stopped at an intersection just a block away from where I had announced my claim of territory.  At a glance, I could tell that they’d had all mirrors removed and all glass stripped from the dash, doors and windshield.

More of Coil’s people, unless the hospital took the same precautions at Sierra’s warning.

Those that had emerged from their homes and shelters were gravitating towards the ambulances.  There was still dust settling on the streets, and I could taste it thick in the air, even through my mask.

It seems like Wildbow’s eyes had recently been opened to the possibilities in using the sense of taste when describing something. Only two chapters ago, we had Taylor tasting Lisa’s blood (…now that’s something that sounds a bit different out of context), and now this.

I wondered if we needed to be getting masks out to people.  It couldn’t be healthy.

Probably wouldn’t hurt, at least. Unless of course the masks had an eye portion with glass lenses. That would be a bad idea.