The Wistful Crossroads
The road that cut through the heath of Aveline was not merely a path of packed earth and crushed stone, but a wound that the earth had never allowed to heal, a scar that bled moss and silence in equal measure, and it was upon this desolate, wind-scoured boundary that Sir Thomas Bradshaw stood with his back to the rising sun, the weight of his steel hauberk pressing against his ribs like a...
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