Kason Durham

The Hunt

Just a quarter past seven on a dark winter day. In the shadow of a bell tower, long since abandoned, a pool of oily black water sat still on the floor. Its murky tourmaline shades were glowing under the stained glass windows and small fires burned perpetually on the surface of the pool. Only the sound of the whispering wind could be heard, kicking against the loose shingles in the roof.