The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 22:45:18 -

The Distant Joke

The rain in the Vale of Ashwood did not fall so much as it descended, a slow, gray silt that coated the leaves of the ancient oaks until they shimmered with a dull, lifeless oil. Thomas Bradshaw stood alone at the edge of the clearing, his sword, a heavy thing of folded steel and worn leather grip, resting against his shoulder. He had been walking for three days through this mist-choked forest,...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews