The Distant Threshold
He dreamed of the wall. It stood in the dark. Stone. Cold. Infinite. He woke with the taste of iron on his tongue. The room was small. Stone. Smelled of damp and old wax. Sir Edward sat on the edge of the bed. His armor was off. He wore only a tunic. It was white. It was stained. He looked at his hands. They were still. He had expected them to shake. He had expected the tremor. But they were...
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