The Wistful Saga
The rain had not ceased for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the lower district into slick, treacherous mirrors reflecting the soot-stained faces of the passersby. Thomas held the satchel tightly against his chest, the leather straps cutting into his wrists, the weight of it a familiar anchor in the drifting chaos of the city. It was a heavy thing, this...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen