The Faded Root

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 02:12:42 -

The Faded Root

The rain hit the tin roof like gravel. I wiped the mud from my boots. The floor was cold. Stone. Always stone. I looked at the map. The ink was faded. The lines blurred. I traced a route. It led nowhere. It led here. I am old. My hands shake. The shaking is not fear. It is rust. Metal turning to dust in the joints. I remember when I was young. My hands did not shake. I held a sword. I held a...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews