Such was the spirit of the time, that nobody there was looking much to the future – or, for that matter, to the past.
It was live for the moment in Octonagone.
But, all that was so long ago.
Pretty Octonagone by the sea; where the dreams of miners were lost in the swell of the waves that crashed upon the shore; where Copper Country women were young and fresh for a season; and stories told had little truth in them.
Pretty Octonagone, where the shadows live.
Where the land is now reclaiming its virtue.
Where people fear to tread.