The Distant Summer
The bread did not rise in the cellar, but it did not fall. It sat in its wooden trough, pale and still, as if it had forgotten its own purpose. Thomas woke with the taste of yeast on his tongue, a sour, living thing that clung to the back of his throat. He lay still for a moment, listening to the damp silence of the monastery kitchen. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and the...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση