Along the Wall by Finola Scott - Word Bohemia
Startled by a vixen’s cry the legionnaire shakes cold dawn into his head and stares out over the moors. Black scraps of crows circle the hill. Streams clatter with mountain ice. Yellow flecks of whin snag his eye. He tugs his rough cloak close against the chill conjures an azure sky above golden groves. HeRead More...
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