The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 16:14:42 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil over the moors of the north. I stood by the fire in the small stone keep, watching the water drip from the eaves into the mud below. My hand rested on the hilt of my sword. It was a heavy thing, cold even through the leather wrap. I had carried it for three years. Three years of marching, of fighting, of killing men who looked just like me....

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