The Wistful Witness
The dampness in the infirmary of St. Aldric’s Abbey was not merely a presence but a weight, a physical thing that pressed against the stone walls and seeped into the marrow of those who dwelled within its confines. Brother Thomas, a scribe of forty years and a pride as rigid as the oak beams overhead, sat on the edge of his straw pallet, staring at the fresh, weeping wound on the back of his...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare