The Pale Letter
The colony of Duncairn moved with the heavy, rhythmic labor of a place that owed its existence to the sea and its survival to the granary. Merchants hauled bolts of rough-spun wool through the mud, their breath misting in the chill air, while the smell of dye and brine hung thick over the market stalls. Athol Sempill walked through this churn of commerce, his hands stained indigo to the wrist,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews