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Show Fragment Black morning, he'd kept walking to stay warm. He'd traced the stream, and found on arcing elm. He shifted gun from forearm to forearm, and listened hard for life in that purged realm. He stood gut shivers as the sunlight shifted; light cast a wolfish face upon the stream. Above that face the knarled, black branches lifted on wind that froze him deep as any dream. Frozen in sleep he'd dreamed the life he'd live outside a world where branch and water wed. That warping face was all his thoughts would give, and to the arcked, wet wood he drove his head. Then: damning all the world in one dry scream, he fired round on round into the stream. |
