The Faded Road
The banquet hall of the old city of Aethelgard did not smell of roasting meats or spiced wine, but of wet wool and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that had settled into the plasterwork during the three days of the Great Silence. Elias Thorne sat at the edge of the long oak table, his fingers wrapped tightly around a chipped clay cup, watching the steam rise and curl into the air like a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews