ЯΔJJIБ'S PЂØŦØ
The Forsaken
“He’s focused on something—or someone—over her shoulder.
The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.
“What—who is it?” Summer asks in a strained whisper.
His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. “The Forsaken.”
― Laura Kreitzer, Burning Falls
The Forsaken
“He’s focused on something—or someone—over her shoulder.
The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.
“What—who is it?” Summer asks in a strained whisper.
His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. “The Forsaken.”
― Laura Kreitzer, Burning Falls