The traveller’s eyes shone bright in the firelight; his cape steamed with the enticing odours of tobacco, damp leaves and the wide reach of the sky beyond the citadel.
‘It is both easier and harder to hunt in the snow: sound and scent are muffled, but there are tracks. Bloodied prints led us to a rocky outcrop where deep within a cave we found a girl, wrapped in a pelt of pure white, at her breast a wolf-cub of the softest silkiest grey.’
He shifted and held my gaze for all to see, as the memory ached within me.
M J Lewis ©2015
Inspiring photo prompt this week for Friday Fictioneers, from Doug MacIlroy, which I’ll be investigating properly now I’ve used it to go down some weird fantasy route. Can hear someone saying something about snow in Chile. Interesting…