The Golden Master
The iron bit was in the mouth of the ox, not a man, yet the screaming was human, a raw, tearing sound that ripped through the quiet of the valley and echoed off the limestone cliffs, and there stood Elias Thorne, his hands slick with the blood of the beast he had just bled, the copper coins clinking softly in the leather pouch at his hip, a sound so ordinary it was obscenely out of place...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 3 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση