The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that smelled of wet stone and old iron. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the Blackwood Gate, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in ten years, yet felt heavier than any he had ever carried. Beside him, leaning on a gnarled staff of ash wood, stood Master Kaelen. Kaelen’s eyes,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen