The Distant Blade
The iron was cold. It lay on the stone floor, a dull gray smear against the pale light of the window. I picked it up. It was heavy. My hands shook. Not from fear. From the effort. The blade was chipped. A small, jagged tooth missing from the edge. It had been there for years. Or maybe a lifetime. I did not remember when I first held it. I only knew that it was mine. And now, it was not. "You...
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