The Faded Root
The mud sucked at Thomas’s boots with a wet, deliberate hunger. He fought it. He always fought the earth. It was a negotiation of physics and will, a daily war against the ground’s attempt to swallow him whole. The sky above the valley was a bruised purple, swollen with rain that had not yet dared to fall. Thomas, a man whose hands were mapped with the scars of a cabinet maker, carried a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen