The Wistful Ashes
The ledger counted forty-two hours since the departure. Elias Thorne, scribe of the lower village, weighed the leather-bound book in his hands, feeling the damp weight of the ink against his wrist. He wore his father’s tunic, a garment of coarse wool that had not seen the wash in three years. The fabric was stiff, heavy with a grey dust that seemed to migrate from the seams, settling in the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen