Dawa moved slowly across the cold desert surface. The sun was bleak, and the land was dry. The wind blew mercilessly stinging on the little exposed skin of the old man’s face with fine particles of needle-like sand. The chill in the air made everything bow in its path. The landscape was sad, stretching flat […]
Children Of The Moon — Weekend Stories by Trishikh
Thanks for linking and publishing my story to Revolver Boots.
"Mi piace"Piace a 1 persona
Is ok, thanks
"Mi piace"Piace a 2 people