The Distant Wound
The air tasted of iron and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of Cillian’s throat as he drove the stake into the shoulder of the Beast. It was not a monster in the way the stories in the village square described them, with scales of obsidian and eyes like burning coals. It was a thing of flesh and fluid, a sprawling, multi-limbed mass that looked less like an animal and more like a...
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