The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 05:56:10 -

The mist did not roll in; it rose from the blood. Sir Aldric’s sword, a longsword of the old pattern, sang as it bit into the leather and bone of the bandit leader. The man screamed, a wet, tearing sound that was swallowed by the grey wall of fog surrounding the highland pass. Aldric’s shoulder burned, a jagged tear from a mace blow that had come from the shadows, but he did not stop. He could...

0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews