He Crossed the Brittle Bridge of Bones

It was cold. Colder than the whipping winter winds atop the jagged peaks of the world’s highest mountain range. Colder than death. The chill did not touch him. But as Azmih watched, his companion jolted awake, shivering violently against the frigid air. His head whipped from side to side, long black hair smacking his neck… Read more »

They Return Every Year to Lay Flowers on the Spot

The villagers returned every year to spread flowers across the bog. A riot of pinks and blues, purples and yellows, even shocks of pristine white sprinkled like snow for one glorious afternoon before they were left to wilt in the mud. Then they returned to their festivals and dances, their stories and feasts, hoping against… Read more »