“No, I have to go find my mother. You can’t stop me from that. I let all the rest of them die. I can’t let her die too.” He reached for his sword, but it wasn’t at his side. He sat up and twisted his head in several directions, his breath heaving. “Where is it? Did you steal it?” He gripped the trapper by his coat. “I need that sword.” Athson to the trapper
Reblogged this on Where Genres Collide.
Thanks for the reblog.
You’re welcome, P.H.!