The Wistful Saga
The cart wheels screamed against the cobblestones of the High Street, a sound that was less a noise and more a physical tearing in the air, dragging the heavy oak chest behind it like a wound that refused to close. Thomas Bradshaw pulled the leather straps until his knuckles turned the color of old bone, his shoulders hunched against the biting wind that whipped down from the northern moors,...
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