The snow fell deep and heavy now. A bitter cold wind whipped and whirled across the barren field at the edge of the forest.

Each year the winter grew shorter, but more violent. A beast knowing its end is near; lashing out at all around it unwilling to accept what is next.

The humans had done this to themselves. Not a single warning heeded.


It wouldn’t be long now.

Mother nature was lumbering slowly across the lands to snatch them up and wipe them from the earth.

Old Crow smiled at this. Ghost shivered in the tree next to him.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 11, Old Crow, Pentel