The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 01:22:07 -

The trowel bit into the wet clay with a sound like a bone snapping, and I pulled the shovelful of mud up into the moonlight, my fingers already numb from the cold seeping through the leather of my gloves. It was the third of November, in the year of our Lord 1342, and the wind off the moor was stripping the last of the warmth from the stone tower where I lived, a widow of thirty-two with...

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