By David T. Harwood
From atop his horse the old man regarded the crimson-sodden snow. It was blanketed, pooled closer to the mutilated carcass. Darkening. A trail of bloody footprints emanating from the wound. They started out bright, clear, terrifyingly real. Then the redness gradually disappeared into white the further away they went. He glanced off in the direction they were headed. A narrow sequence of impressions, fading off into a vague, vast nothingness.
From author David T. Harwood (Nightlights) comes this tale of an old man, a solitary rancher, living out his days away from the world. In the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by no-one. The way he likes it. Then, one day, in the middle of a blizzard, a boy arrives. From where?