The Faded River
"Take it," the Warden said, his voice a dry rustle of parchment in the high, vaulted air of the Council Chamber. "The last of the Sorrow-Root. It is yours by right of penance." You stood at the center of the circular room, your back stiff, your hands clasped tightly behind you so that no one might see the trembling. The stone floor was cold against the soles of your boots, a chill that seeped...
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