The Faded Root
Thorne. The name hit the back of my skull before the hand did. I was already moving, boots scraping the gravel of the outpost yard, the rain turning the dirt into a slurry that sucked at my heels with a wet, persistent pull. I wanted to find the Faded Root. I wanted it the way a man wants air when the water is rising, a desperate, animal need that had nothing to do with logic and everything to...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews