The Pale Garden

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2026-08-19 22:28:09 -

The Pale Garden

I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. It was not blood. Or maybe it was. The air was thick. Damp. I sat up in the wagon. The wood creaked. Rain hit the canvas roof. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a clock. My father was gone. The bench was empty. The leather was cold. I looked around. The road was dark. Mud. Just mud and black trees. We were on the run. Or so I thought. I am a maker of things. Small...

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