The Distant Wound
The wagon wheels bit into the frozen mud of the valley road, grinding a sound like bones snapping. I pulled my coat tighter, the wool rough against my neck, and watched the mist curl off the river. It was a cold that did not stop at the skin. It went deeper, into the marrow, settling there like a stone. We were going to the Keep. Everyone knew that. The Keep stood on the black hill above the...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior