The Golden Oath
The morning fog clung to the blackened timber of the Blackwood Mine like a burial shroud, obscuring the jagged teeth of the shafts that bit into the hillside. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice, his boots caked in the red clay of the valley, watching the steam rise from the ventilation fans that churned the air with a rhythmic, mechanical groan. He was forty-two years old,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima