The Faded Guest
The mud of the King’s High Road was not merely wet; it was a living thing, a sucking, cold entity that sought to swallow the boots of every man who dared cross it, and I felt it rising to my ankles as I stood in the center of the dispute, my hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not been drawn in three years. The rain fell in sheets, turning the world into a gray smear of stone and...
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