As our dapper boots flatten the wet soil, their silhouettes loom in the distant horizon.

Chapter III – Devil’s Brew

As black ink flows across the old parchment that records legacy, our third Chapter is written in silence. The rhythmic sound of our pencils dipping in dark fluid, mimics the steady ticking of time itself.



We tend to wander in a tranquil pace, yet our endless thoughts are rudely disturbed by the hoarse rasps of black birds flapping their wings as they circle our heads. Crows, birds of mischief. View gallery ►


It is said their screech turns wander, into wail.

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With solitude as our only companion, reality shifts within it’s boundaries.