The Pale Fracture
The air in the valley tasted of copper and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and refused to wash away with the sips of water I drew from the canteen, which had long since run dry, leaving only the gritty sediment of the path we had trod for the last three days, a path that seemed to unravel the very fabric of the world around us as the trees grew thinner and the sky, a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen