The sun was a bruised orange, hanging low over the French countryside. Cathy and Jane had been cycling for six hours, their legs burning, the map flapping uselessly against Cathy’s handlebars.
They thanked him and pedaled on, but a mile into the woods, the canopy swallowed the remaining light. Then, Jane’s tire hissed and went flat. And Soon the Darkness
Behind them, a single flashlight clicked on, cutting through the gloom like a blade. The sun was a bruised orange, hanging low
"The shortcut looked fine on the map," Cathy replied, though her voice lacked conviction. The road here was little more than a cracked ribbon of asphalt hemmed in by dense, silent woods. The sun was a bruised orange
"Excuse me?" Cathy called out. "Is the village of Oiron nearby?"