The Pale Tower
The chisel bit into the limestone with a sound like a bone snapping, a sharp, dry crack that traveled up my wrist and settled in the marrow of my elbow, and I paused, holding the tool in a fist so tight the knuckles turned the color of old parchment. I looked up at the eastern face of the Pale Tower, that vast, sun-bleached wall of stone that rose above the city of Oria like a finger pointing...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen