The Golden Compass
He woke in the cold. The stone floor bit into his knees. Dampness seeped through wool. Gray light filtered high above. Through narrow, barred windows. No sun. Only the pale, sickly glow of dawn. Thomas sat up. His head throbbed. A dull, rhythmic pain. Like a hammer striking iron. He touched his forehead. Skin cold. Clay-like. Where was he? He remembered the cellar. He remembered the smell....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews