The Wistful Voyage
I, Odd Lund, forty-two, am a weaver in the salt smugglers' cove, and I owe the Crown forty silver marks. The debt is the only thing that keeps my hands steady when the loom screams. II The light comes in low today, cutting across the floorboards where the peat smoke settles. I have been working on the Eternal Shroud for nine days. Nine days of rain before this sun broke the sky, and now the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews