irish
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The Hawthorn Tree Series The cottage crouched in the shadow of a gnarled forest, its walls sagging like a hag’s flesh, patched with moss and rot. Inside, the air was a sour stew of damp earth, burnt herbs, and something acrid that clawed at the throat. A cauldron squatted over a fire that spat green Read more
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Up in Donegal’s wild hills near Glenties, 1823 hit hard with a squalling baby named Eamon Doherty, born into a thatched shack where the wind screamed through cracks and the mud floor sucked at bare feet. His mam, Brigid, was a wraith of a woman, her hands raw from scrubbing linens for some fat landlord Read more
Dany Slone 