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Weekly Contest #185
Birds fluttered over the frosted boreal, innumerable and vast, moving as one and many through the crisp air; so cold it felt potable. Craggy and desolate, the mountain was a white desert. Nought but wingbeats breached the silence. But then, smoke began to billow from one of the caves. Not being typically curious creatures, the birds flapped on, their tiny minds focussed on mates and nests and food. Had they taken heed of the smoke, perhaps they wouldn’t have been roasted by a wall of fire bursting out of the mountain. Hot. ...
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