Nobody outside of the community would know, because there’d be no way for them to know. This curse is ours, and ours alone. No other land sees the creature—no one else has to fear it like we do. Our ancestors spilt the blood on this land, and this land makes us pay for it.
And over again.
When the crops rise, and the harvest moon peaks its bleary eyes out over the night sky, we know.
It’s almost time. Continue reading “Part of the Crop: A Tale of Harvest”