The Pale Echo
The valley of Kael held its breath, the fog so thick it erased the horizon and left only the grey smear of the tea terraces. Ali Cetin stepped over a rotting fence post, his boots caked in the black mud of the interior plain, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword he had not drawn in three years. He was thirty-two, a retired stagecoach guard now serving as an inquisitor for the local...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen