The Golden Song

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 22:27:28 -

The Golden Song

The mist clung to the black rocks like a shroud. I woke in the tent, the canvas damp against my skin. The cold was a living thing. It bit at my bones. I sat up. The fire was dead. Ashes lay white in the hearth. I could not sleep again. I stood and pulled my cloak tight. The wind howled beyond the flaps. It sounded like a beast in pain. I stepped out into the night. The camp was silent. Tents...

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