Back to the campfire…
It the shadows and glow of the flickering ruddy flames, he looks gaunt, grey, and emaciated as he approaches and sits down. His hair, what remains on his taut pate, is a dirty white and as withered as he — scraggly, sparse and I can see more skin than hair.
(more…)It’s time to be off, they said.
There was not much left of the once-long stick I had been using to poke at the dying embers for a spell. Each time I poked, bright orange sparks would jump from the rippling ruby coals. For no particular reason, doing so brought me a flash of joy.
I have always been a firebug. Maybe that was why.
I turned to Raven, their feathers ruddy in the glow of the remains of my campfire. Off where? I asked.
You know, they said.
(more…)