The Faded Frontier
The air in the town square of Harrow Creek did not merely smell of roasted pork and spilled ale; it carried the heavy, cloying scent of judgment, thick as the velvet drapery that hung over the stage where the annual Harvest Gala was being held. It was a night of excessive joy, a performance of unity that had been rehearsed for decades until the motions became indistinguishable from the truth....
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