The mud sucked at Cherry’s feet as she slipped through the thicket of willow and alder. Did she lose the wight that had been calling out her name? If so, it wouldn’t stay lost for long. Somehow, the creature had known she’d taken the old trail south. Surely it would hunt her down again. Read more »
Cherry walked, alternating between being lost in thought, panicking at her lack of awareness, jumping at every hint of movement, and then calming down enough to get lost in thought again. Read more »
Cherry ran, covering fifty feet, then one hundred, then two hundred, a thick mat of clover cushioning her footfalls. If the wights had found her burrow, they could have spotted her through the trees or heard her push through the brush surrounding the trail. More wights would converge on her from all directions. Read more »
Somewhere past Cherry’s ivy-laced window, the wights beckoned. She scanned the thick ferns and pale alder trunks out back, but the hillside held no vibrant colors or alluring shapes. The wind’s rustling didn’t carry bubbling laughter or a hint of melody. If only that meant the wights had left. Read more »
