The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-24 02:17:35 -

The Pale Bonsai

The wool was heavy. I held it in my hands, feeling the coarse, matted fibers pull against my palms, and for a moment I did not know if I was holding my brother’s coat or a sack of wet sand. The port of Oakhaven smelled of brine and rotting kelp, a thick, grey fog that clung to the cobblestones and made the air taste of iron. I had come here with a single trunk, and in that trunk lay the only...

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