Saturday, September 29, 2012

100 Words a Day 55

Pale moonbeams illuminated the fog spiraling around their legs, but did little to illuminate the moor. As they staggered on, their feet sank into the spongy ground, as though it were trying to impede their escape. The tall marsh grass was rough against their skin, which peeked through tears in their pants.

Their hearts beat faster at a strange noise in the distance. Their tired breathing became ragged and raspy as they pushed themselves out of a trudge and into a wobbly trot.

They noticed the mists rising up around them, now up to their waists, but they never slowed.

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