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Rain clagged thick in its brackenfur as the grim cat slinked through the backlanes, tail low, lugs twitchin’. Red glim eyes cut through the gloam like cinders in soot. Thunder clattered over Tallowton Mill, shivrin’ windowpanes and clatterin’ rust gnawed signs.
A thousand glare-hollows fix on the black cat as the sky rends wide, yawning raw and wrong. They peer at it from glow of their portal to this world as they try sleep, from the crookshadows in their safe home... yer not just lookin' You feel it, dun’t yer too? That gnawin’ pull where the world frays like old warpcloth… But yer not just glentin’...
Your through now. There’s no slippin’ back.. The storm soaks into bone and blood, whispering through the drift...
Harrowden never forgets its own...