The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:31:05 -

The Distant Wound

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that smelled of wet ash and old iron, while I stood at the edge of the precipice and watched the mist swallow the lower valley. "You are late, sir," the voice came from behind me, low and raspy, like the grinding of stones in a dry riverbed. I did not turn. I knew the weight of the presence at my back, the specific...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews