The Distant Journey
The wind off the North Sea did not howl, as the poets of the lowlands liked to claim, but rather scraped against the iron ribs of the lighthouse like a rusted file testing the integrity of a weld. Elias Thorne stood on the gallery, his breath suspended in the freezing air, watching the curvature of the earth disappear into the grey murk below. He was not a man accustomed to silence, but here,...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση