The Faded Frontier
The soup was hot, thick with the scent of rendered fat and boiled barley, and it sat in the center of the long table like a dark, breathing eye that watched everyone who gathered around it. Elias Thorne, a man whose skin had taken on the grayish, translucent quality of a man who has spent too many winters in the mist, ladled the broth into his bowl with a steady, practiced hand. He did not look...
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