The Distant Legend
The train rattled into the valley like a dying animal, its iron belly heaving with the scent of coal smoke and wet wool. I stepped down onto the platform at Harrowgate, the air hitting my lungs with the sharp, metallic tang of November rain. It was a cold that didn’t just sit on the skin but burrowed into the marrow, a familiar ache that reminded me of every winter I had spent waiting for a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen