The Golden Oath
The road through the Ashwood was not merely a path of packed earth and tangled bramble, but a long, grey tongue of memory that stretched back into the misted hollows of the valley where the rain fell with the patience of centuries. Elias Thorne walked it with the weary, deliberate gait of a man whose knees had begun to complain about the dampness long before his spirit had decided to surrender,...
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