The Distant Joke

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2026-08-20 08:01:06 -

The Distant Joke

The mist in the valley of Aelwyn did not behave like water. It did not rise from the dew-wet grass or settle into the hollows of the ancient oaks; it drifted with a deliberate, heavy patience, as if it were thinking. I sat on the stone bench by the old mill, my fingers stained with ink from the parchment I held, and watched the fog thicken. I am Thomas, the Scribe of the Hollow, a man who has...

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