The Pale Garden
The black sap pulsed in the heartwood of the Great Oak, a rhythmic, wet throb that matched the frantic hammering of my own heart as I pressed my palm against the rough, ancient bark. I am Silas, Royal Warden of the Citadel’s Pale Garden, and for twenty years I have kept the peace in this moss-eaten courtyard, but tonight the peace was rotting from the inside out. The sap was not merely dark; it...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima