The Golden Scar
The road up to Oakhaven was paved with gravel that bit into the tires. It rained. A cold, wet mist clung to the pines. Thomas Ashworth drove slowly. He had been driving for three days. His back ached. A dull, grinding pain near the spine. He ignored it. He was not a man who complained. He was a man who found things. Or rather, he was a man who looked for what was missing. He stopped the car at...
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