Monday, November 16, 2009

Grasping-Tree Hill

“I see you’ve been on Grasping-Tree Hill,” said old Darby.  “There’s a tale to that place.  They say old Porter – this being Porterston, you follow – he went down there at the last and sealed himself away in his tomb, all surrounded by his gold and jewels.  They say all that treasure is still there.  Porter sleeps now, unless someone is foolish enough to take something from his hoard.”

Clem swallowed, the gold coin in his pocket suddenly burning cold.  Atop the hill, the thin white branches of the tree crackled, then curled gently in on themselves to form a fist…

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