A Breath of Snow And Ashes
“She stirred the pale mess with a stick, lifting it out periodically in order to assess the texture of the pulp that dripped from it.
Not bad. Another day, and it would be dissolved enough to press. She considered whether to add more of the dilute sulfuric acid solution, but decided against it, and instead reached into the bowl at her side, filled with the limp petals of dogwood and redbud flowers gathered for her by Jemmy and Aidan. She scattered a handful of these delicately over the grayish pulp, stirred them in, then covered the bowl again. By tomorrow, they’d be no more than faint outlines, but still visible as shadows in the finished sheets of paper.
“I’d always heard that paper mills stank.” Roger made his way through the bushes toward her. “Perhaps they use something else in the making?”
“Be glad I’m not tanning hides,” she advised him. “Ian says the Indian women use dog turds for that.”
“So do European tanners; they just call the stuff ‘pure.’”
“Pure what?”
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