Cyclopean - Writing Sample

“Smell that on the breeze? Brimstone. She’s the Devil’s whore for certain.”
Four figures, cloaked and cowled against the autumn night ride down a narrow, wooded track. The horses are reduced to a walk by the roots and stones of the trail, but the white plumes of their breath show they were recently ridden at a full gallop. The men are clearly searching for something. Two carry torches fashioned from bundles of dried rushes, and each has a sword, either on his hip or saddle. The two without lights keep a nervous hand near their weapons. Their voices carry through the crisp air and are as clear as if you sat among them.

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