The gravel crunched coldy beneath his feet. Looking down the little boy wondered at the different sounds walking made on the frozen gravel path.
The weather was hot, not just hot, but the sticky wet hot of the mountains in August.
Twilight threw shadows up the hills like dark bony fingers. Watching the growing, slowly moving shadows, he saw them creep into the edge of the trees like a dark hand insinuating itself into a living glove.