The Golden Visit
The mill stood on the ridge like a broken tooth. Elias Thorne walked toward it. His boots crunched on the gravel. The air was cold. It tasted of rust and old rain. He carried a small leather satchel. Inside were his tools. A chisel. A file. A hammer. They were heavy. They were warm from his hands. He had been walking for three days. His legs ached. The pain was a dull throb in his shins. It...
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