The Pale Tale

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-19 12:07:46 -

The Pale Tale

My hands shook. Not from the cold. The cold was a ghost here, thin and polite. It was the hunger. A hollow drum in my belly. I looked at the mud. It was black. It was wet. It smelled of iron and rot. I was twelve. Maybe thirteen. Time had lost its teeth. It chewed nothing. It just sat there. Watching. Thomas was with me. He was small. Smaller than me. His coat was too big. It hung off his...

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