The Men of Otherworld: Collection One
“It’s a story that haunts me, and I finally decided to write it out and see just what happened.
The wild roses were blooming in the garden, which meant that before long it would be time to gather the honey and start harvesting apples. Rozurial loved this time of year when everything was still warm and golden with the afternoon sun, but autumn was clearly beckoning from just over the hill. As the sun crept over the horizon, streaking the early dawn with golden tongues of fire, Roz sat on a slope near his home, chewing on a piece of grass, as he contemplated what chores he needed to finish before nightfall.
Fraale, his wife—the love of his life and the one constant in his world—was baking bread in the garden oven. It was still too warm to heat up the house, so she had been doing all the summer cooking outdoors. She had shooed him out when he stopped to grab a roll and some meat for breakfast, laughing and cussing out the loose bricks that were making the day’s cooking precarious.
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