TW: kn.ves, diss.s.c..tion
--Briar--
My soles pound the ground. The burn. They burn until dawn punctures the darkness of night's grasp. The fight continues.
Day wins. But my feet don't stop. They pound. The burn turns to numbness.
Is that voices ahead?
I throw myself. Through the bushes. Branches scrape my newly shown skin.
Blood bubbles to drip.
Dagger in hand, I look up. My feet hurt.
Gold eyes meet mine.
Okay, Briar. Feel all of this.
YOU ARE READING
Storms of the Sky
FantasyEvery mythical world Bastet has read about is paradise compared to the hell they live in. Maylea is not that place. With some possessing unordinary abilities, two friends as different as the sun and sea, and a pretty assassin out for their head, Bas...
