The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 16:27:27 -

The mud of the castle courtyard was not merely wet; it was a living thing, a thick, sucking mire that held the boots of the living and the dead in an equal, suffocating grip. Sir Eamon stood with his back against the cold stone of the gatehouse, his breath coming in ragged, white plumes that vanished instantly into the grey November air. He was thirty-two years old, a man who had spent the last...

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