The Scribe

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hundreds of miles away, he woke with a gasp, his lungs filling with the night air as he lay cold and naked on the Phrygian plain. Grey eyes gazed into the heavens, staring at the full moon, and grass pressed to his back on the deserted riverbank. Night cloaked him, bare and unmarked as the first night he’d been born into the world.

He knew nothing and no one.

But a million stars danced over him, and a familiar voice whispered in his mind.

“Come back to me.”

End of Book One.