The Pale Banner
The white cloth hung in the dream, a sheet stretched tight against a trellis, trembling in a wind that did not blow. Elara woke with the taste of iron in her mouth, her hands buried in the red dust of the borderlands, the grit working into the whorls of her fingerprints. She was thirty-two, and the winter was already breathing on her neck, cold and dry. The supply wagon sat ten yards away, its...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση