The Distant Blade
Marek woke from the dream with the taste of iron in his mouth. He lay still. The straw mattress was cold. The wind outside howled like a wounded dog. He knew what he had seen. The apple tree. The branch. The break. He sat up. His hands shook. He looked at them. They were his hands. They were also the tree’s hands. He stood. He walked to the window. The glass was fogged. He wiped it with his...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 14 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen