The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-20 10:17:28 -

The Pale Meridian

The air in the hall smells of roasted boar and old stone. It is thick. It coats your throat. You sit at the far end of the long table. Your hands are still. They are bound by ropes that bite into your wrists. The rope is rough hemp. It smells of sweat. Your brother’s sweat. You look down at your feet. They are bare. The floor is cold flagstone. It radiates a chill that climbs your shins. You...

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