The Distant Journey
The letter arrived on a Tuesday. It was thick, cream-colored, and smelled of stale tobacco and ink. Elias Thorne held it in his hands, his fingers trembling not from cold, but from a sudden, violent recognition of the weight of the paper. He was a man who had learned to carry light things. A coat. A bag. A name that no one in the valley of Oakhaven had spoken in three years. Elias lived in the...
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