The Distant Wound
The rain fell in sheets of iron. It hammered the roof. It drummed on the shield. I raised my arm. The pain was a white star. It bloomed in my shoulder. I did not flinch. I could not. The command was in my marrow. Hold the line. Hold the wall. The structure stood before us. It was the Great Hall. It was the seat of the Order. Stone. Grey. Unyielding. It had stood for a thousand years. It would...
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