“He’d grown unused to woods like this.

He’d become accustomed to the Northwest, evergreen and shaded dark. Here he was surrounded by soft leaves, not needles; leaves that carried their deaths secretly inside them, that already heard the whispers of Autumn. Roots and branches that knew things.”
~ Michael Montoure, Slices

frosted Fran the Mute


some anthropomorpher might say something like “Oh, the things he’s seen” and i’d go all nerd and shit and tell the morpher that Fran is short for Francesca, doesn’t have eyes and isn’t about to tell you anything at all about all the things it didn’t see and even if it did see and have a mouth, one would have to wonder why it would communicate at all with such a small, soft, short-lived creature that constantly struggles to stand on its two feet.