The Distant Threshold
The fire did not begin with a spark but with a scream, a sound so raw and tearing that it seemed to rip the very fabric of the night sky, and when the blacksmith Thomas Bradshaw looked up from his anvil, he saw that the great oak tree at the center of the village square, the one that had stood since the days of the first kings, was not merely burning but screaming, its bark splitting in jagged...
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