The Faded River
The rain fell in sheets of grey iron, hammering against the thatch of the watchtower until the wood groaned in a low, rhythmic thrum that matched the pounding in Elias Thorne’s chest. He stood on the edge of the cliff, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen blood in thirty years, watching the fog roll off the sea. The village of Oakhaven lay below him, a cluster of stone and...
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