The Wistful Campus
The rain had turned the road into a ribbon of black mud, slick and treacherous under the heavy iron wheels of the carriage. Thomas stood at the edge of the cliff, his uniform soaked through, the wool heavy with the damp chill of the November fog. He held the brim of his hat low, shielding his eyes not from the sun, but from the grey, formless expanse that stretched out before him. Behind him,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 12 Views 0 Anteprima