The Distant Blade
The iron is cold. It is colder than the air. Colder than the stone floor. You hold it in your left hand. The hilt is wrapped in leather. The leather is cracked. The leather is dry. It feels like dead skin. You do not look at it. You look at the water. The mill is quiet. The looms are still. The dust hangs in the shafts of light. It is noon. The sun is high. The sun is white. It burns through...
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