The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 02:40:00 -

The summons came not as a shout, but as a drag of feet on the flagstones, followed by the heavy, rhythmic knocking of a knuckle against oak. Olive Kestrel was elbow-deep in the binding of a psalter, her fingers slick with the glue and the dust of centuries, when the door to the scriptorium swung open and Abbot Halloway stood there, his face a mask of bureaucratic finality. He did not ask how...

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