The Golden Master
The fog rolled off the moor like a slow, grey tide, swallowing the stone milestones one by one. Elias Thorne walked with the steady, measured pace of a man who had long since made a covenant with his own exhaustion. On his back, wrapped in a rough wool shawl that had seen better decades, lay the bundle he had carried for three years. It was not gold, nor jewels, nor the stolen relics of a dead...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews