The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-18 23:37:11 -

The road to the abbey was wet with the kind of rain that did not wash things clean but only made the mud cling to the leather of the boots and the wool of the cloaks. Thomas Ashworth walked with his head low, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of a sword that felt heavier than it should have, as if the metal itself had grown tired of the violence it was meant to carry. He was not a warrior...

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