Thursday, October 1, 2020

The Aged Faun



    Night was coming on fast by the time I reached the mountain crest. The gentle winds carried the scent of decay and the swaying vegetation, what little there was, was stunted and dry. The old faun was near the mouth of a cave, resting in the growing shadows. I tipped my hat. "Nice place."

In Memory of Bazille

The companions reached the gully and paused. Quasimodo calculated its width and said, "With a little effort we should be able to clear ...