The man lay dying in the field, blood pooling all around his body and the sounds of chaos and battle raged around him. As he looked up at the sky, a comrade came to him. The comrade said nothing, but it pointed at the wounds on the man’s chest. Immediately, a wave of warmth washed over him, and he felt his flesh knitting back together. He reached out for his sword, and drew himself to his feet. As the comrade dashed into battle, the man followed close behind. It wasn’t over yet.
Carter A. Jackson 1 Minute
Published by Carter A. Jackson
I am eccentric A writer/poet who loves God above all else View all posts by Carter A. Jackson