He’d almost forgotten what they looked like.
The old soldier gripped his rifle strap tighter as if the canvas cutting against calloused skin could hold off the dull ache in his chest.
Pianos, they used to call them. Continue reading
I remember when I was a child. Strange, the things one thinks about as they are dying.
I catch the doorframe of the castle gate with a painful gasp. Each breath burns in my chest as poison races through my veins. I clench one bloody fist against my ribs. It’s only a shallow cut, but it’s enough when poison is involved. Continue reading
He wasn’t there.
Asim gripped the staff tighter and pressed his forehead against the worn wood. A chill wind ruffled through the thick folds of his clothing, carrying the scent of coming snow.
Of course, Kyn wasn’t there. Continue reading
I drop the rift-bitten feather.
I mean, to be completely honest it’s the wind’s fault. She seems to like teasing me. Getting me in trouble. Giving all the young ones something to laugh about. Like they don’t have enough of that as it was.
All they’d left were the books, dusty and stained with blood and tears.
Kyth stood among the rubble, tiny pebbles skittering around his boots in a hot wind. The sun glared from the pale, iron sky, unforgiving to any who ventured into this forgotten crevice.