Page 235 of Savage Throne
Overhead, crows soared, dipping and rising in playful arcs.
Completely at peace, I sat on a flat rock near the lake’s edge.
Around me, faint glimmers of green light flickered like fireflies in a twilight meadow. However, they weren’t merely lights.
I knew better.
They were ghosts.
Hundreds and hundreds of translucent people moved across the land and even Dream Lake—men, women, and children.
A green glowing hue outlined their bodies.
They were surreal shadows of humanity.
Their images flickered in and out like a mirage of wavering spectral figures. It was hard to make out good details of them but through the flickering, I noticed the ghosts wearing tattered and charred clothes from a long-ago fashion.
Unlike the stories others reported, these ghosts didn’t jeer or taunt me. They didn’t claw or wail like restless souls in search of vengeance.
No.
They lingered here with those translucent forms shimmering in soft green hues.
They watched, not with judgment, but with a quiet patience that felt oddly reassuring. Their presence was neither cold nor foreboding but warm, as if they were part of the lake itself.
Part of the air.
Part of the very earth I rested on.
The breeze shifted, carrying with it a scent I couldn’t quite place—a blend of fresh rain and earth, tinged with something ancient and sacred. It wrapped around me, filling my lungs, steadying the rhythm of my heart, and. . .I just knew thatshewould be near me soon.
A sound broke through the silence—boots crunching against the dirt.
I didn’t need to look up.
A second later,shesat beside me without a word.
I turned my head slightly, catching her glowing green silhouette in the moonlight.
The Crownsville Bandit.
With such a big deadly reputation, she was a petite Black woman. I often wondered why the history books had made her a man. Perhaps, the ones that wrote those books were embarrassed to admit that a small Black woman had terrorized them for years.
I smirked.
As always, she wore a feathered cowboy hat. Its wide brim cast deep shadows over her piercing brown eyes. Her shirt—worn and tattered—hung loosely against her ghostly frame, while faded brown pants clung to her thighs.
Two guns rested in holsters at each side. Their leather straps were worn from time and use.
Around her neck, a colorful bandana shifted in the breeze.
She didn’t even look my way. “You’ve changed, little one.”
“Yes.” I returned my gaze to Dream Lake. “I have changed.”
“You didn’t used to be like this.”
“Like what?”
