The Distant Legend
The road to the Abbey was a ribbon of red clay. It twisted through the hills. The air smelled of wet stone and iron. Silas walked. His boots were heavy. They were caked with the earth of the valley. He carried a staff. The wood was smooth. It had worn against his palm for forty years. He was a keeper. Not of sheep. Not of keys. Of the wall. The old wall. It stood at the edge of the world. Or so...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen