The Distant Threshold
"You have it, do you not?" The voice came from the darkness of the wagon, low and gravelly, stripped of all inflection. It was not a question, but a statement of fact, waiting only for my confirmation to proceed. I sat on the wet burlap sack, my hands trembling not from the cold that seeped up through the mud of the road, but from the weight of the object resting in my lap. It was a ceramic...
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