The Pale Echo
The stone of the Keep did not merely shelter; it consumed, drinking the light of the dying afternoon until the interior was a bruise of indigo and shadow, a place where the air hung heavy with the scent of wet moss and the metallic tang of old iron, and in this vast, silent cathedral of masonry, Sir Julian Thorne stood alone before the Great Hall’s central hearth, his hand resting upon the hilt...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 1 Views 0 voorbeeld