The Golden Visit
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the ancient oaks of the Blackwood into skeletal figures weeping into the mud. It was the kind of weather that did not merely fall but seeped, finding the cracks in the stone walls of the keep, the gaps in the leather of the armor, and the hollow spaces within the chest of Sir Thomas Bradshaw. He sat on the edge of...
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