The Pale Door
The iron was cold. It always was. I held the bar in my left hand. My right hand held the hammer. The air smelled of rust and wet stone. We were in the keep. The high keep. The place where the old men went to die. Or to forget. I am Thomas. I am a soldier. I have no name that matters. I have a shield. I have a debt. The debt is a heavy thing. It sits on the chest. It weighs more than the armor....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews