Now she has returned all because of a gray stallion named, The Phantom.
Above the stench of horse manure and male sweat, the soft scent of shay butter and rose water peeled back a memory he’d long forgotten.
He gritted his teeth and refused to acknowledge the warmth now coursing through his blood as anything more than the heat of the forge. Letting his hammer rest upon the anvil, he plunged the shoe into the bucket on his left and above the hiss of steam heard her speak.
“Are you even going to say hello?”
Walls of Jericho coming soon to Passions in Print...