Drabble 96 – Stream of Conscious write

When she closes her eyes she sees it clearly. The Hywel castle on the Loch, framed in by snow capped mountains and dismal bog. She left her Emyr there.
The braying hounds hunt her down in the fading light. Chasing a phantom through their dreams.
Glenyssss. And the hound hunts them again
Emyr can count his freckles, his lucky stars.
And the howls of the wolves raised their hackles.
His luck ran out in the bog. And hers in the castle.
Emyr. Another twilight in the soot. They resurrected in their own bodies.
She sings to no one and everyone. The banshee’s hollow hymn to the dying, a cold comfort in the sunset years.
She’ll come to claim them. And the hound hunts them again.
Where is my Emyr?
She’ll sweep the grounds. Emyrrr, she calls.
Glenys. The wind hisses through the trees.
And they’re flying over the bog to the village. Two twain souls braided together again.


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