watercolour and ink on paper
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Those crows
He looked at his foot, a misstep. Momentarily the wrong place to set his foot, the ground was soft, the sludge creeping up. He was about to step back when he heard the cackle behind him. Those crows. He wondered if he could pull his foot back without them noticing. He thought maybe they weren't even watching him this time. But he couldn't risk it. He stepped forward, squelch. He pretended this was what his plan had been all along. Bloody crows.
Once lost
