The Wistful Silence

toegevoegd een audio Literature

2026-08-20 17:36:42 -

The wind off the moor smells of wet iron and old blood. I hold the thorn in my hand. It is small. Brown. Worn smooth by years of my grip. It was a hawthorn branch once. Now it is just a splinter of wood that hurts when I squeeze it. I am leaving. The cart is packed. The silence in the room is heavy. It presses against my eardrums. Thomas stands by the door. He is old. His face is a map of...

0 Reacties 0 aandelen 1 Views 0 voorbeeld