Thanos Kalamidas - Fiction

https://theoviebooks.wordpress.com/ The night was not silent, though it wore the illusion well. In the barren fields outside Consuegra, the windmill known as El Viejo del Norte groaned against the night breeze. Its ancient wooden arms turned lazily, half in protest, half in memory. The moon, thin as a sickle and twice as cruel, hung above it like a watchful eye, casting long, angular shadows that danced like ghosts upon the dry soil. A shape approached, staggering. The man, cloaked, bloodied