The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-20 09:29:42 -

The feast was a riot of gold. Not the yellow of the sun. Nor the yellow of wheat. This was the yellow of molten light, thick and heavy, pooling in the center of the long oak table. It shimmered. It breathed. It smelled of honey and old smoke. Walter stood at the head. He was a small man. His hands were large. They were stained brown to the wrist. He had been a dyer for forty years. Now he was a...

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