unneeded weight upon the woman’s already troubled mind.
The City of Angels, it was once called, the voice continues, heedless of it’s host’s turmoil. The site of the gods’ earthly homes. But no longer. No longer. You are come at a most desperate time, stranger.
“Is it… safe?” The woman asks presently, lifting her voice to drown out the one inside her head.
“Oh, aye,” the older guard answers easily. “Never you fret, girl, them darkwolves won’t make it past us, no matter how hard they try. Now, why don’t you totter on inside and —“
“Hold on!” Nils, the younger
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Just Another Struggling Writer 
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