The smells of dinner drift along the corridor. Fried fish. Sizzling garlic. Sesame oil. The setting sun casts a golden sheen on the roof tops of the blocks of flats. It is the magical moment before night.
She inhales the aromas, glad to be alive.
A chill wind touches her skin.
Her dagger vibrates. She feels it through her bag.
A dark shadow darts away at the corner of her eye. It looks larger than the usual hungers she hunts at night. She gives chase, drawing her dagger. She passes by children who whisper gleefully: “Dragon, dragon, dragon.”
A bit of what I am working on, an expansion on the “Hunger” fic. It has now grown into a YA tale, set in the same world of Wolf At The Door.
SPORE-Con is tomorrow! Can’t wait!
