The Distant Machine
The letter was found in the boot of your horse, wet with mud and the blood of a beast long dead. You read it by the firelight in the abandoned watchtower, the ink bleeding into the parchment like a bruise. It was written by Silas. Or what remained of him. You know the weight of a sword when it is no longer a tool but a limb. You know the taste of iron when you break your teeth on the stone of a...
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