The Golden Crossing
The axe bites the wood. You feel the shock in your shoulders. The grain splits. It is not a clean break. It is a struggle. You are standing in the clearing where the pines end and the moor begins. The air is cold. It bites your lips. You are Elias Thorne. You are a carver. Your hands are rough. They are stained with walnut and oak. You are not a warrior. You are a maker of things. But today you...
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