A
young woman stared at him from across the courtyard. It wasn’t the good kind of stare. He could tell she didn’t trust him. It was in the way she looked at him through
smoldering eyes under a furled brow. It
was in her posture, clenched arms crossed, not for warmth, but for
defense. It was in the way she gave him
the finger, perfectly vertical, hyper extended joints for emphasis.
(from Post-Apocalyptic
Nomadic Warriors, by Benjamin Wallace)
8½*/10. The full review is here.
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