The Distant Blade

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 09:56:41 -

The Distant Blade

The rain did not fall. It hung. I stood on the ridge. The mist was thick. It tasted of iron. It tasted of old blood. I held the sword. It was my father’s sword. It was heavy. It was dull. The edge was gone. Years of use. Years of rust. I had polished it. I had oiled it. It did not matter. The steel was tired. I am a smith. I make tools. I make hoes. I make plowshares. I do not make swords. But...

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