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The villian advanced on Andrea across a freshly harvested field. Clouds
scurried by overhead, with the occasional flash of bright blue shining. Jim was in a pickle. Andrea was next to a swift, rushing stream. It was loud even from the far side of this plot. Torrance was in the middle, amidst mud and holes. The horse whinnied in fear. If Jim ran, he could get bogged down and stuck. If he rode the horse, the horse could break a leg and roll over on him. Then he would be fresh meat for the lumbering thug.
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1/9/2006 11:52:22 AM
Extending Enabled
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