The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 23:21:18 -

The rain fell in sheets. It hammered the tin roof of the outpost. It hissed against the mud. Silas stood in the doorway. His sword was wet. The blade was notched. He held it low. He was tired. Not tired in the body. Tired in the bone. Tired in the soul. Inside, the room was warm. It smelled of pine and old paper. A fire crackled in the grate. It danced in the shadows. Margaret sat by the...

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