The Distant Promise
The rain fell on the bridge of stone like a thousand small accusations, cold and relentless against the leather of Silas Thorne’s coat. He stood at the center of the arch, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that had not tasted blood in three years, yet felt heavy with the weight of old promises. Below, the river churned, a dark vein of the earth pulsing with the rhythm of the storm....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen