The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-17 11:29:01 -

The Wistful Saga

I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was not blood. It was the taste of the soil. I lay still. The air was cold and smelled of wet wool and woodsmoke. I knew where I was. I knew who I was. I was a man who had stolen. I was a man who had killed. I was a prisoner of my own hands. The dream had been long. It had been a week. In the dream, the walls were made of stone. They were thick and...

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