The Golden Visit
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude was not a path so much as a scar in the earth, a pale ribbon of packed clay that wound through the heather and the mist. I walked it with a burden that was both heavy and light, a heavy thing because it was a life’s worth of silence, and a light thing because it was only a single object, a small, woven bag of leather and thread that sat against my chest. I was...
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