The Distant Wound
The train from the capital did not stop at the village of Oakhaven, but it passed close enough to the ridge where Elias Thorne stood to allow him to hear the low, mechanical groan of its passage, a sound that vibrated in the hollows of his chest like a second, failing heartbeat. He was an old man now, his spine curved into a permanent question mark, his hands trembling not from the autumn chill...
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