The Pale Tower
The mud of the trench was not merely wet earth but a living, sucking thing that held the bones of men who had forgotten how to sleep. Elias Thorne pressed his back against the sodden wood of the firing step, his fingers numb around the cold iron of his rifle, watching the rain fall in thick, grey sheets that blurred the line between the sky and the no man’s land. He was not a soldier in the way...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen