The Distant Wound
The paste is not for eating, Halloway said, his voice flat and dry as the dust on the road. I looked at the satchel in my hands. It weighed ten pounds, a dense, gray block of experimental nutrient slurry. The border was three miles out, and the wind was picking up, cutting through my tunic and making my teeth ache. I had served fourteen years in the southern garrison, and I had never seen a man...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen