The Distant Wound

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2026-08-25 01:30:22 -

The Distant Wound

The fur was matted, the pelt thin and slick with sweat and old blood, and I held it against my chest as if it were a child I had failed to save. The guard’s boot had just left a crescent of bruise on my ribs, and the air in the cell was thick with the smell of wet wool and iron. I was Elias, a scribe of no rank, and I was thirty years old, though the cold had made me feel older, heavier, as if...

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