The Distant Legend

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 09:20:00 -

The bus smelled of wet wool and diesel. Leo sat in the back. He was twelve. His knees knocked against the seat in front. His father sat two rows down. He did not look up. He held his briefcase like a shield. The road was gray. It cut through the mist. Outside, the fields were dead. Brown. Empty. They had been plowed in October. Now they waited for rain that would not come. Leo looked at his...

0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews