The Distant Ghost
Act I Yan Song hauled the saddle blanket of expensive wool over his shoulder, the heavy fibers biting into his skin as he climbed the muddy track toward the longhouse. The unseasonal wind combed the mulberry fields, flattening the leaves against the earth, and he felt the weight of the fabric pressing down on his spine like a physical verdict. He was forty-two, a bonded scribe whose hands were...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews