The Golden Oath
The iron bit snapped under the weight of the stallion’s rage, a sound like a bone breaking in a quiet room, and Thomas Bradshaw felt the jolt travel up his arm, into his shoulder, and settle in the marrow of his spine with a cold, finality that tasted of copper and old rust. He was not a man who fought; he was a man who endured, and in that distinction lay the architecture of his entire...
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