prickle's

Updated: May 15, 2025

A prickle's at my skin that tells me here is dool, and I can smell mort-cloth." Sonachan gave a grunt, and thumped loudly on the fir boards. A silence that was like a swound fell on the instant, and the light within went out at a puff. For a moment it seemed as if our notion of occupancy and light and lament had been a delusion, for now the grave itself was no more desolate and still.

Neil Munro - John Splendid: The Tale of a Poor Gentleman, and the Little Wars of Lorn