All at once the crows scatter up and over the Ghost City, pouring up like the ashes from a great fire into the night sky, across the first evening stars, across the sliver of the new moon, roiling this way and that, making a great scattery and flinty noise with their beaks, and then roiling together all over again.

Isla starts to run. Across the yard, round the goat pen, and then she is pushing hard against the door of the forge. Inside, the room is dark. The fire has shrunk back to embers. Shadows from the guttering candle dance on the walls. And there is Father's body on the floor, all crumpled, his hammer still clenched in his hand, his face twisted on one side, his mouth open like he's trying to say something. And when she looks up, Blue is standing there in the doorway, quiet as anything.

Excerpted from Dark Earth by Rebecca Stott. Copyright © 2022 by Rebecca Stott. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.