The Golden Oath
The harvest moon hung low over the smog of Harrow’s End. It was a heavy, yellow eye. It watched the feast. The tables stretched out in the town square. Linen was white. Food was plentiful. Meat steamed in the cold air. People laughed. They drank. The noise was a wall. It kept the dark out. Elias stood apart. He held a brass compass. It was his father’s. The needle spun. It did not point north....
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