“Garrett and Marla sat together inside the broken hulk of an old wagon, listening to the staccato rhythm of water dripping down from the trees onto the ragged canvas tarp above their heads. Garrett’s fingers and toes ached with the chill through his gloves and boots, even though his purple robe clung to his skin, damp, and uncomfortably warm. Marla’s dark hair lay flat against the sides of her face, and her eyes seemed distant and sad as she gazed into the misty forest across the road. Her g...ray traveling garb blended against the shadowy bed of the overturned wagon. Her pale face and hands shone in ghostly contrast. Garrett shifted his feet, catching the sole of his boot on the edge of something half-buried in the mud. He pulled the curved dagger that Cenick had given him for his birthday from his belt. He stuck the tip of the blade into the ground beside the little wooden box and pried it up. He wiped the dirt away with the thumb of his glove to reveal the faded image of a painted hen and a trio of chicks on the lid.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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