The Golden Quest
"Is it gone?" The question hung in the humid air of the infirmary, light and sharp as a razor blade. Thomas Bradshaw did not look up from the bandages he was winding around his own forearm. The white gauze was already damp with the sweat of a fever that had been climbing for three days, a slow, insidious heat that turned his bones to lead and his vision to a blurred, watery smear. He knew the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews