The Court at Oakhaven
The sky over Oakhaven was the color of a bruise and the air didn't move. Caleb Thorne stood at the edge of town and looked at the courthouse the way a man looks at a thing he doesn't trust but needs anyway. He had been walking since dawn. His good leg carried most of the weight—the other ended at the elbow, taken at Antietam by a Mini ball that didn't care about geography or rank or the fact...
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