The Faded Shield
The fog rolled in off the harbor like a gray wool blanket thrown over the back of an old horse, dampening the cobblestones of the lower town and silencing the cries of the gulls. It was the kind of morning that made the air taste of salt and iron, a thick, heavy stillness that settled into the bones before the sun had even thought to break through the cloud cover. Thomas Ashworth walked with...
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