THE FOUNTAIN OF CANDELAS, PART THREE
Upon that fateful day, it was along that track that Candelas hastened, her dainty feet sending small puffs of dust skywards: that track whose every rut and bump; whose every tuft of wiry broom forcing its way through the parched earth, Candelas knew so well that she might walk it without a stumble in the stygian dark of winter night. She met no other on her way; no campesino, nor laden mule, nor creaking wagon, for it was the heat of day, when the sun leached the colour from the sky and roasted... Sign in to see full entry.