Siobon waited.  The fog was growing thicker. She touched the cross around her neck.  Gripped tighter on her sword handle, and listened through the fog. On the other side of the bridge she heard the weeds rustle. She knew they were there.  She thought at least 30 of them, slowly creeping towards the bridge.   It was a cold morning. She thought it was either a good day to die or to do a lot of killing.  The King had said to hold this bridge.  She patted her horse and waited for the first to step onto the bridge.

1/22/17

© words and pictures by Dan DeMarle 2017