This is Michael Lark. It is dark, moody and full of emotional duplicity and above all else, wet. Few people are able to draw rain as well as Lark, let alone utilise it as a tool for emotional deliverance. From the streams of droplets atop the page to the tiny puddles created by each drip, it is an immense feat of creativity. Even the shadows cast by the central characters ripple with the splashing rain. The most terrifying aspect of this image is the bright red colours, breaking the already bleak image. The blood sweeps seemingly into the rain but its trail leaves a tragedy yet to be revealed. Even the people in the centre of the book are cast as silhouettes, and it is their solemn bowing that bears the immense sadness at losing a loved one. There is only just enough light to show the injured/dead figure being cradled by a family member quite close to her. There is no need for anything further and the emotional investment will hopefully deliver. Even the trees are part of this emotional deluge as their bare leafless nature ushers in the extremes of winter. The whole scene is incredibly sad but the rain brings an escalation of the devastation on display. Few are able to do this as well as Michael Lark and he continues to impress on this book.