The Wistful Witness
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a slow, gray curtain that erased the boundary between the earth and the sky, wrapping the ancient village of Oakhaven in a shroud of damp wool and silence. It was the kind of weather that seemed to belong to another century, a time when the stone walls of the keep were new and the banners hung high without the weight of soot and sorrow. Thomas...
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