The Faded Shield
The left knee of Silas Vane began to fail on a Tuesday, though he did not admit this until the third day of the storm. It was a grinding sensation, deep in the joint, like a rusted hinge forcing itself open in a cold wind. For forty years, Silas had moved with the economy of a man who knew that every wasted motion was a debt owed to gravity. Now, gravity was collecting interest. He sat on the...
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