The Wistful Show
The village of Oakhaven did not know the name of the man who stood in the center of the square, but the silence that hung over the cobblestones was heavy enough to break a man’s back. He was a figure of considerable height, dressed in clothes that had once been fine wool but were now stained with the grey dust of the road and the red rust of old blood. In his hands, he held a loaf of bread, not...
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