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Weekly Contest #135
Ravaged homes lay behind Zaas. Smoke rising from the ashes, a stench rising from the bodies, and wisps of leftover hope from the dead that the living would soon find safety. Part of him thought he was surely dead. After all, not even the black hairs on his arms seemed to be twitching as he lay beneath the jutting stone. Hours and hours he had lain there as the fighting had ensued outside the safety of the stone. Hours and hours had he clutched the new, shiny, and smooth quiver with its untouched arrows- of which only one h...
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