Chapter 17
- Xander Jade
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
Night on the farm was never quiet. The sound of the wind could be heard rattling against the eaves, while the scurrying of rats could be heard moving through the thatch, and at unpredictable intervals, a sheep would emit a bleating sound in its sleep, as if it were experiencing a deeply traumatic memory. Erik sat on the old bench outside the barn, boots planted in the churned-up mud, hands occupied with the most pointless chore he could find: sharpening a knife that had already shaved hair from his forearm.
