The Faded Road
The hand was the first thing Elara noticed. Not the face, which was hidden by the heavy wool of a traveling cloak, nor the voice, which was muffled by the draft of the open door. It was the hand resting on the arm of the chair. The knuckles were swollen, the skin stretched tight and pale over the bone, trembling with a fatigue that seemed to seep from the fingertips like cold water. Elara...
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