by Sarah Stribley

Created on: August 10, 2009   Last Updated: August 13, 2009

Excerpt From: "The Snake Heart"

A thin glaze of frost shimmered on the pine needles, as bright as crystals under the afternoon sun. Ivory flakes of snow had begun to fall again, dusting the tree tops and whitening the forest floor.

The sky was obscured by dense clouds whose bone white color made the bare trees seem even more stark and alien. The oak's gnarled and twisted branches created a grey-brown web that divided the snow covered field from the achromatic sky.

Nondescript mounds of snow and ice concealed the lazy twists and Heracles knots of a wisteria, while the dense bracken and evergreen ferns were laden down with a lactescent canopy of frost. Long thin spines of iridescent ice hung heavily from branches and clung to the marred bark like a wintry Spanish moss.

The crunch of snow beneath thick fur lined boots broke the cold silence and the scent of crushed cloves and anise bonded with the chill air.

Moro ran to join her master, panting dense fetid clouds into the crisp wind and nuzzling his long slender fingers. He absentmindedly scratched her velvety grey ears, his eyes darting past the stolid fence of pines and piercing the shadows that encompassed the nodding oaks and willows. They alighted on a jagged spike of rock that protruded through the enveloping snow, a stony ice-covered rib of the earth piercing the wintry skin.

He walked towards it, his eyes still wandering from shadow to shadow, ivory sky to ivory ground. He ungloved one hand to place it reverently on the rock's rough surface, his fingertips probing every wind hollowed spot and scratching at the crystallized moss. He kicked one booted foot into a notch in the rock that the ice had missed and clambered to the top where it was remotely flat.

Once again, he stroked the smooth ice and dusted away the sparkling snow then stared at the dull grey rock that bit through its thick frozen veil.

After fumbling through his pack, he dragged out a skin and spread it over the ice then carefully pulled out a long flute of ebony and silver. He rubbed the lacquered wood with the suede interior of his coat stopping only when the wood took on a pearlescent glow, he then looked around himself once more before lifting the pipe to his lips and playing the song of the dead.

At first, the there was no obvious reaction to his playing except perhaps the silencing of all birds. Soon though, what light shone through the snow laden clouds was devoured by an unseen creature of darkness.

Fingers of black wrapped

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• Next Page >>