Feuillemort
Jul 31, 2019
2 minutes
I will wait for them at the edge of the glade that would have been promised to them had they come of age. My russet-and-white fur does not do well to hide against the branches of the old oaks, now laden with lacelike moss and bare of any floral trappings.
Abby’s eyes are the first to reach my gaze, large and green as
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