fuzzyspiral

The tarnished bronze sunlight streamed down from the heavens like God's wrath while no comforting wind whispered in the natives ears. The Pampas grasses, burnt a rustic amber tone, stood rigidly in the unmoving atmosphere. A musky heat, slightly damp yet rapidly dehydrating, rippled around the charred stalks, pulsing through the villagers and accumulating in the iron cans of the strange invasive foreigners. Their glittering chests and helmets shone under the lifelessly pallid blue sky, as the peasants fearfully cleared a path to the arroyo for the conquistadors. The unrelenting sun had boiled away the normally frothy creek, first down to a cr