The Faded Sutra
The sword was heavy. It was heavier than stone. It was heavier than the mud that slicked the inside of Thomas’s boots. He swung it. The air hissed. A black shape lunged. Thomas missed. The blade bit into the earth. He pulled it free. The black shape was gone. Or perhaps it had never been there. The village was called Oakhaven. It was a place of stone and smoke. It was a place where the light...
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