Hiisi Ikiiurso Tennesee BA

The trembling in his voice spoke of excitement…with a dash of fear. Under his eyes, the liquid behind the glass – if you could call it a liquid – was heavy and viscous. Like crude oil or tar. To call it black would be like calling the sun hot. It radiated darkness. It swallowed the light from the hearthfire. As the tribesman kept staring, the nearby stream started running more and more rapidly. One could hear the faint chiming of tiny bells from the nearby bog. The tribesman was not listening though.