The Golden Compass

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-21 21:29:33 -

The dream was always the same. A field of black soil, churned up by the iron teeth of plows, stretching out under a sky the color of bruised iron. I was running, but my feet did not touch the ground. I was suspended, drifting over the churned earth, watching the shadows of men with rifles move like oil across the surface. I woke in the sputtering dark of the tunnel, the smell of wet coal and...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 11 Views 0 Anteprima