The Golden Oath
"Tell me where it is, Father." Hiroshi Murata stood in the center of the crypt, his boots crunching on the gravel that had been swept into corners by a wind that did not blow. The air here was heavy, not with moisture, but with a low, vibrating frequency that made the fillings in his teeth ache. He was thirty-two, a captain in the militia, but in this stone box he felt like a boy again, small...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen