Like Wind On A Dry Branch Novels & Stories

Outside, the wind is in pit of rage, as if it is in his climax of revenge against every matters in the ground. It attended the tall trees, not just a gentleman's dance but like a battle whether it can pull their roots out or they'll remain unscathed when the grandiose visit comes to end.

Like so many things in their relationship, it was left unfinished. A sudden wind sprang up from the west. It bent the trees in the fields next to the cottage, but it was neither hot nor cold. It ruffled the grass, rattled the hedges, and lifted Sally’s hair and skirt, but she couldn’t feel it on her skin, nor could she smell any of the scents that a wind such as this usually carried. It was almost entirely bodiless, you could see and experience its effects, but you couldn’t feel them.

Dodge a low-hanging branch. The night air felt like ice against my skin, stinging my face as I cut through the wind. The pain didn't bother me. If anything, it felt good. It was proof that I was moving, that I was alive. Every step I took away from that prison fueled a fire in my chest. I felt a raw, frantic power humming through my limbs, an intensity so thick it made my lungs ache.

Between the borders of Dragsa and the Icelands, three people wrapped in blankets sat with their backs to a big tree trunk, shivering. The warmth slowly returned to their limbs after they had shed the soaked clothes and left them to dry on a branch, but it took some time. Beneath the tree, it was almost dry, with sprinkles of water sometimes being blown in from the sides and the wind strongly pulled on them as if trying to rip the blankets away.

Another flash splits the sky, closer this time, followed by a thunderclap that rattles the windows. The wind gets strong, whooshing through the trees like a secret message. It picks up dust in a little twirling cloud, sparking in the sun for a second. I can almost smell the rain coming; that dirt smells like fresh rain. The sky is about to open up and pour.

The temperature dropped drastically, the wind that blew felt colder, piercing the skin's surface. The trees swaying in the wind dance a dance of death that is both beautiful and magical, their dance accompanied by the sound of dry leaves, and the leaves singing as the wind blows them. The hoarse singing was muffled, their singing was like a muffled screams. It was like someone who wanted to scream with his neck choking hard, someone who was in a transitional period between life and death. They sang and danced as if it was the end of the world. The last day that humanity can taste before everything is destroyed with nothing left

Over my dead body! Another gust of wind rips through the trees hard enough to cause my shirt–or dress, depending on who asks–to lift and whirl around my waist. I let go of the tree to smooth the fabric back down just as a second gust replaces the first, pushing me away from the tree and deeper into the forest. It’s like I’m being ushered in a specific direction, like the air around me can sense where I need to go, and is driving me there. Whispers coast by on the breeze, growling and snarling echoing through the woods.

She laughed tenderly, it excited her. Finally, the wind. It blew softly against her skin as its humming sounds added a touch of background note to the music. She could feel the weight of the wind, it was peaceful and serene. It blew tenderly and soothingly against her skin and hair, while it blew gently on the leaves of the trees.

She then turned her face towards the dull sight of her dark courtyard. When the wind blows, the birch branches rub against each other, creating an eerie atmosphere that feels good to comfort Rebecca's nervousness. Maybe if she wasn't in a bad mood she would have shuddered at the sound of tree branches rubbing against each other like that. Especially if Nickson is not at home because he has to go on a business trip or work late at his office, she often sleeps with the lights on just because she is afraid to see the shadows of the trees that resemble monsters, biased on her balcony. But now she suddenly liked the sound of the rustling of tree branches, which was getting louder and louder with

Ivy narrowed her eyes slightly and went back to the work that lay in front of her. Her life had already moved far ahead, much like a feather being carried in the wind.