The Wistful Saga

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 21:48:28 -

The Wistful Saga

The arrow struck the oak. It sang. It stuck. Thomas watched. He was twelve. His hand shook. The wood was wet with rain. The air smelled of iron. Of blood. Of old stone. He stood in the courtyard. The castle walls loomed. Grey. Cold. Indifferent. He was small against them. A speck of dust. Lord Ashworth stood by the gate. He wore black. His face was a mask. He held a cup. He did not drink. He...

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