The Golden Quest
I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was not blood. It was the taste of the old house. The walls were sweating. A cold sweat that smelled of wet stone and rotting oak. I sat up. The sheets clung to me, heavy as wet clay. I looked at my hands. They were steady. They were always steady. That was the curse of my training. The room was dark. The only light came from the crack under the...
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