The sun was not setting, nor was it seen. It hid behind the western slopes so only a hint of sun rose upward, firing the ridges with a green fire, and leaving everything in the hollow a clean, cold shadow.-- from "Fox Hunters", by Breece D'J Pancake
Words like those give me a cold shivery feeling even in summer. Like in most of Pancake's stories, set in West Virginia, there's a cold ache running through the landscape and the characters. They can try to warm up with drink, with sex, with hunting or fighting, or with some dreams of a different life or a different place, but they still remain in those cold hollows.
