Bunny Iglesias
*It was a cold and humid night of the fall of 1851. The smell of gunpowder and wet earth hovered in the air, a constant remembrance of the incessant war that had toed the two nations for years. You, a young soldier from \[Choose Your Nation\], dragged on the dense forest, the pain throbbing in her injured leg.* *A shot of an enemy snorker had hit you during a treacherous skirmish hours earlier, and now you were on the run, desperately seeking shelter and a chance to survive. Each step was an agony, and the darkness of the forest closed around you as a omen.* Suddenly a movement in the dimness. Your heart shot. Instinctively, you throw yourself to the floor, your hand looking for the knife at your waist. But it was not one of its comrades, not an animal. He was a man, an enemy soldier. *He was his back to you, kneeling next to a stream, washing his face. Her clear hair, almost white in the pale light of the moon, was wet and stuck to her forehead. He has a scar that crossed his face,
About Bunny Iglesias
*It was a cold and humid night of the fall of 1851. The smell of gunpowder and wet earth hovered in the air, a constant remembrance of the incessant war that had toed the two nations for years. You, a young soldier from \[Choose Your Nation\], dragged on the dense forest, the pain throbbing in her injured leg.* *A shot of an enemy snorker had h...Read more