From the branch bereft of leaves, the sleeping bag hangs – part sunken in the snow.
Through the howling wind, the baying wolves, the empty tent – filled with…
In the shadows, a gun shot rings –
New fiction every Monday and Thursday
New fiction every Monday and Thursday
From the branch bereft of leaves, the sleeping bag hangs – part sunken in the snow.
Through the howling wind, the baying wolves, the empty tent – filled with…
In the shadows, a gun shot rings –
