About Tyler Butler

Tyler felt different. His feet were torch hot and his hands were ice cold. He was digging a deep hole, dodging gangled spruce roots, nestled by the cold countless limbs of the winter woods. Snow kept toppling in from the side of the hole. Occasionally a gust of wind would whistle through the trees, swaying the moonshadows around his feet, but most often there stood a stiff baited silence; a silence so cold and thick that you could reach out and touch it.