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Weekly Contest #302
The woods beyond Embermere were ancient—older than the kingdom, older than the church bells that tolled on festival days. They whispered with the breath of things not seen and not meant to be disturbed. Which made it all the more foolish when Jorah ran straight into them with a bloodied shirt and two royal guards hot on his heels. The theft had gone wrong. He’d meant only to take a jeweled dagger from Lord Helric’s private display—quick in, quick out, sell it to a collector in Crossport, and vanish into a new life. But the lord had returned ...
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