The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-21 13:21:41 -

The Wistful Saga

The rain fell on the tin roof. It drummed a steady, hollow beat. "Look at him," said Silas. He stood by the open window. The air was cold. It smelled of wet iron. "He is gone." I looked at the bird. It sat on the windowsill. Its feathers were matted. The color had drained from its plumage. It looked like a scrap of grey cloth. It had been there for three days. It did not move. It did not eat....

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