The Faded Shield

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 21:17:45 -

The Faded Shield

The rain did not wash us clean. It only made the mud stickier, pressing the filth of the mill into our pores, into the wool of our shirts, into the very marrow of our bones. We stood in the square of Oakhaven, a town that smelled of wet straw and old blood, watching the Sheriff’s men drag the cart through the streets. The shield was there, mounted on a pike, its blue paint peeling away in long,...

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