The Distant Threshold
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel road into a slurry of mud and rust that clung to the tires of the heavy freight wagon, a sticky, iron-rich paste that seemed to resist every turn of the wheel, a physical manifestation of the debt that sat in the pit of Elias Thorne’s stomach like a swallowed stone. He drove the team of draft horses with the mechanical precision of a...
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