Interlude
October 1898
Dead leaves crunched beneath Arthur Thompson’s boots as he climbed the forest hill, legs burning, breath coming hard and fast.
Ahead, Ben moved with unsettling ease, his moccasins whispering over the earth. He turned back, his face shadowed beneath the dappled light of the canopy. “Almost there.”
Arthur stumbled, his trekking pole sin…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Westville to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.