The Distant Legend
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain of fine mist that eroded the edges of the world until only the immediate and the immediate-adjacent remained. In the stone keep of Blackwood, perched on the jagged lip of the Appalachian ridges, Silas stood alone before the great window. He held the object in his hands, not with the grip of a weapon, but with the tender, aching care of a...
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