The Distant Joke

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-22 11:38:17 -

The Distant Joke

The mist does not lift. It settles, thick and grey, clinging to the rocks of the highland pass like wet wool. You ride hard, the saddle leather creaking against your hip, the sealed parchment in your breast pocket burning a hole in your skin. It is a pardon. Or so the Magistrate’s clerk claimed when he pressed it into your hand, his eyes sliding away from yours, his fingers trembling. You are...

0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare