The fever passed, only to leave him chilled and dreaming he was fighting on bloody snow.
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This Textured Darkness, #30
Until three days ago,” Milo pointed to the skull, “This was a man we called the Poet.”
This Textured Darkness, #28
He’d reconnoitered Casoria during the war and remembered the layout well enough to take him to a corner tavern called The Fish Belly. He’d been disguised that night, his… Read more “This Textured Darkness, #28”
This Textured Darkness, #28
He’d caught the eye of a buxom barmaid who asked for coin.
This Textured Darkness, #26
He was being branded; the air smelled as it did when they marked the wild horses in the spring.
This Textured Darkness,#25
“My source tells me the bark is odd. Flesh colored with specks of red. The shoots spring up, only to die.”
This Textured Darkness, # 24
“What if the child is already dead?”
“He is alive. Else why would Jah demand that he be rescued?”
Ray Welk, 1911-1962 (A Harshbarger Mills Story)
For years and years, Iris was the wife of the town’s only mortician. She’s popped in, treating me like a source of income, unannounced and unafraid.
This Textured Darkness, #23
“Here is the message you must take. Read it before it is waxed.”
This Textured Darkness, #22
“You will be fine as long as you remember to stay out of the taverns and pleasure houses.”
