The Distant Legend
The iron gate was rusted shut. I stood before it. The sun was low. It painted the stone gray. My hands were cold. I wore a rough wool coat. It smelled of damp earth and old smoke. I had walked for days. My feet bled inside my boots. I did not stop. I could not stop. The courtyard was empty. The grass grew tall. It was wild. It had forgotten the footpaths. A single window stood open on the...
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