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Short, Occasionally Sweet - Gwynnyd's Drabbles  by Gwynnyd

Dead and despoiled. Faramir made a deep ‘tchaa” of disgust and walked away from the downed tree that had shaded the hillside. The marauding orcs could not strew poison everywhere but they took delight in seeking out beautiful places to hack at the soil and sow their filth. Hungry despite the devastation, he pulled a peach from his pack. The heady scent promised sweet summers and full harvests as he slowly savored it. Licking the last of the juice from his fingers, he tucked the pit under a flap of uprooted turf and smoothed it back down before moving on.





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