The Wistful Show
The castle of Oakhaven did not sit upon the hill so much as it clawed its way into the sky, a jagged finger of grey stone pointing accusingly at the low-hanging clouds of the late autumn afternoon. Sir Edward Ashworth rode his horse, a battered grey mare named Thistle, along the muddy track that wound toward the gates. The mud was deep and sucking, pulling at the hooves with a viscous,...
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