Phantom Hollow xxxxii. our minds are troubled
"Cold smoke seeping out of colder throats."
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Though Lótë persevered, pushing past the agitation that set her heart to racing and her limbs to quivering, the shaded woods seemed to be completely devoid of life. The ecologist had yet to see any sign of inhabitants. No tracks, no scents, no scat. Even the air was still and stale, not even a whisper of birdsong or insects to rend the air. Swallowing thickly in apprehension, the two-year picked up the pace as she trotted along -- perfectly fine with giving the spooky forest little more than a cursory sweep with her verdant gaze.
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xxxxii. our minds are troubled - by Lótë - May 13, 2021, 12:00 AM