THE WATCHER

Iain Kelly

The man sat by the frozen river. The ground was covered in frost, the sky was clear and the air crisp.

Covered only by a thin sheet, the cold did not seem to penetrate his skin. He did not shiver or rub heat into his limbs, he only sat in perfect stillness and solitude.

The bright orange light in the east began to rise, casting a warm embrace across the stark landscape.

The man felt his limbs warm as they were kissed by the glow of daylight. He could feel his blood begin to pulse through his legs and feet. He unwrapped the sheet and let the new warmth strike his body.

The ice on the river began to stir, water began to flow in small trickles as the thaw came, tiny cracks sounded as the icy sheen splintered slowly.

Eventually the man stood. He padded away across the soft…

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