The Pale Banner
I woke with the taste of copper and ash on my tongue, the metallic tang of a fever that had broken hours ago but left its residue in the lining of my mouth. The dream was already dissolving, a smear of grey water on glass, but the memory of the table remained sharp. It was a long, scarred oak table in a room that smelled of damp wool and old paper, and we were all there. Elias, whose hands...
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