Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Seventy-Seven

They thought of themselves as wolves in human skins as they roistered and pillaged and stole. Their granite tower at the edge of the world rang with coarse laughter and its storerooms bulged with gold and precious gems.

When their dark horses boiled out of the hills those who could run ran, and those who could hide hid.

Until the day they came no more. 

One brave man walked for days, to find the black basalt walls of the tower had grown silent and cold.

Inside there was only the smell of blood.

In the woods a single wolf howled…

©️jj 2020

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