The Distant Blade
The road is hard. The stones bite. You walk. The air is cold. It tastes of iron and old dust. You are a scholar. You know the names of stars. You know the weight of words. But now you only know the ache in your feet. You carry a satchel. It is heavy. Inside, the glass case. It holds the brooch. Your mother’s brooch. It was gold. It was set with a single black stone. A garnet. It caught the...
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