The Distant Blade
The mud of the Blackwood was not merely wet but alive, a thick, sucking mire that fought every step Sir Aldric took. He stood over Malachi, the bandit lord, whose body lay twisted in the earth, one arm bent at an angle that spoke of broken bone and torn sinew. Aldric’s sword arm burned, a deep, throbbing ache that had started in his shoulder and radiated down to the fingers wrapped around the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen