Across the highlands,
‘top his horse,
Despite all tries
To stray his course,
With poisoned maiden
At his back,
He would not stop
‘Till daylight crack. Continue reading “Forest of Life”
At the Inn of Ill Omen
He struggled with sleep,
His reason for hiding
To himself he’d keep.
As the days turned to weeks,
In the cellar he lay,
With nothing but rats
That shared with him their hay. Continue reading “Sanguine, my Brother”
J Best Books 