The Golden Cellar
The rain hit the thatch. It was a hard sound. Like knuckles on a door. Thomas stood by the window. He watched the mud run down the hill. The house was old. The beams groaned. He was a soldier. Or he had been. Now he was just a man in a house. The house belonged to the lord. The lord was dead. His father sat in the chair. The fire was low. The ash was grey. "Go," his father said. Thomas did not...
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