The first time he had seen justice, he was four years old and yet nothing special in form still. A weedy boy. Skinnier than most children but fairly clean at his mother’s insistence. His hair was the colour of sun baked cow manure, his lips thin and nose stubby. The almost too large eyes he… Continue reading The Executioner
Tag: History
The Amazon House
These people aren’t people, they are gods, she decided. They had no need for moon or stars to navigate the nocturnal seas in the way that her people did. They had strange tools instead. Talismans perhaps. She tucked her chin deeper into her grizzled wolf pelt, breathing air into it so that it may warm her briefly instead of being swallowed immediately by the ungrateful sky.