A ghost on a heather glade amid bosky bastions echoed in the silence like reflective words and whispers behind the guise of the universe reverberated with sound. She searched for her husband, in his time among the living a horseman dead from buckshot in defense against invaders from beyond the border; credited with fourteen lives and fourteen generations saved within a total of ten families, he died at the front lines within the crescendo of the last battle which quelled the invasion. Despite success, his body lay beneath the battlefield. She awaited the day his spirit forgave her marital indiscretions.
Comments are closed.
|
"Classic"
|