by Esther Davis
Chunks of scoria cascaded from the rising form. The ground trembled. Mina’s szajo reared, and she flung her arms around one of its curled horns to keep from falling.
“Calm, boy. Calm!” Mina’s lips trembled as she whispered in the ram’s ear.
The szajo didn’t calm. It bayed, a guttural sound that reverberated through Mina’s frame… Continue reading “Where the Dead Walk”