A Murder of Crows: Eight
He turned his head to follow the rotting scent as it moved around him like a current.
The fear of the first months dissipated slowly. The fall air was heavy with humidity, and the trees were listless.
Then, like a fog, the smell of death made its way to Raymond in the stately house perched on the high ground overlooking the brooding river. His senses had sharpened, and he smelled the change distinctly. He stood on the wide front porch, his hands resting on its rails, and turned his head to follow the rotting scent as it moved around him like a current.
A Murder of Crows is a story in parts. Read previous posts here: joewilley.substack.com/t/a-murder-of-crows
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