The Golden Quest
Act I "You think I don't know what's missing?" I asked, my voice rough from the smoke that still clung to the rafters of the guardhouse. The scribe, a man named Mateo whose hands were perpetually stained with ink and anxiety, did not look up from his ledger. He was calculating the cost of the winter coal, his pen scratching against the paper with a rhythm that mimicked the boots on the metal...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews