The Faded Shield
The leather of the gauntlet had dried and cracked, a map of tiny fissures radiating from the knuckles like the impact site of a microscopic explosion, and I held it up against the grey light of the workshop window, turning it slowly in my hands to inspect the wear patterns that spoke of a life spent in the quiet, repetitive violence of labor. It was a piece of equipment, yes, a protective shell...
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