The Distant Affair
The rain did not fall; it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the armor of Sir Thomas Whitmore as he stood at the edge of the Blackwood. He had come to say goodbye to the forest, to the place where his brother, Julian, had vanished three winters ago. The trees here were not made of wood and leaf, but of twisted iron and pale bone, their branches scraping the sky with a sound like the...
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