A leg of the trousers wrapping Cryton’s hair came undone and fell across her face. Removing them, she growled as tangled locks took its place over her eyes.
“Stupid hair,” she muttered, parting it aside. “Dru?”
The only answer was the crackle a small campfire under a cast-iron spider pan.
Copyright © 2019 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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