23. Turn (Legolas)
Warped trunks bleed bile-dark saps, and the stench of decay is smothering. Here, even the air tastes of ashes and death. And there are always the watchers: shifting, spiteful eyes that vanish with a dark whisper of wind when I turn.
Leave the creature to his fate. "Turn back."
April 4, 2005. For Ainaechoiriel.
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