The Wistful Cipher

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 00:28:02 -

The rain on the moor did not fall; it hovered. It hung in the grey air like a fine mist, wetting the wool of Cillian’s coat and seeping into his bones. He walked. The path was a ribbon of mud cut through the heather, leading away from the village of Kilmartin and into the deep, breathing silence of the hills. He had left the door unlocked. He had left the bread on the counter. He had left the...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews