The Pale Banner
The moss in the cellar had grown thick enough to swallow the sound of Thomas’s breathing, a soft, damp silence that clung to the stone walls like a second skin. He sat on the overturned bucket, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles turned the color of old bone, and he stared at the object resting against his thigh, the heavy, iron-rimmed wheel that had once...
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