The Faded Road
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil over the moor. It soaked into the wool of his tunic, cold and heavy. It settled in the joints of his knees, which had begun to ache before he turned forty. He was a man of the law, though the law here was older than the crown. It was written in the stone circles and the blood of the first settlers. But he was tired. His hands, once steady...
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