The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 22:51:35 -

The Distant Wound

The dream was always the same. It smelled of wet wool and iron. Wren stood in a field of gray grass that stretched to a horizon line made of static. In the center of the field grew a single oak tree. It was ancient. Its bark was peeling in long, dry strips. The leaves were not green but a bruised purple, heavy and silent. Wren knew this tree. He knew its weight. He knew the exact angle of its...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews