The Wistful Incense
Elias, the abbot’s voice cut through the hum of the refectory, sharp as a knife slicing through a rind of stale bread. The sound of the feast, the clatter of wooden spoons against clay bowls and the low murmur of forty men discussing the yield of the barley, did not stop when the name was spoken, but the air in the hall shifted, tightening like a bowstring. You stood in the center of the long...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen