No rain fell in Darke, but every so often, mists rose from the streams and marshes, or rolled in from the sea, muffling the landscape in their thick wool. When they dissipated, they left glassy beads quivering on every leaf and twig, on every blade and web, and the damp loam seeping with moisture, the tree-roots digging deeper, the dark-green frogs gleaming as though oiled, the springs and soaks brimming, the flower cups filled with quicksilver, to spill again. (A quote from THE BATTLE OF EVERNIGHT.)
Posted on: Sat, 20 Jul 2013 06:17:03 +0000
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