The Distant Journey
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the lower town into a slick, black mirror. Elara stood by the window of the small, cramped room she rented above the tanner’s shop, watching the water bead and run down the glass. She held a letter in her hands, the paper soft and worn from being folded and unfolded too many times. The ink had...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen