The Sight by David Clement-Davies
It is an icy night in the country that long ago was known as Transylvania. The wintry ground crackles as a hunters paw breaks the hard earth. The wolf pauses, her breath like smoke in the cold air, then a howl pierces the night. But it is her eyes, not her howl, that speak of danger. Beware of the sight.
It is an icy night in the country that long ago was known as Transylvania. The wintry ground crackles as a hunters paw breaks the hard earth. The wolf pauses, her breath like smoke in the cold air, then a howl pierces the night. But it is her eyes, not her howl, that speak of danger. Beware of the sight.
It is an icy night in the country that long ago was known as Transylvania. The wintry ground crackles as a hunters paw breaks the hard earth. The wolf pauses, her breath like smoke in the cold air, then a howl pierces the night. But it is her eyes, not her howl, that speak of danger. Beware of the sight.