The Distant Threshold
The frost bit the wool. I felt it in the teeth. In the knuckles. The air was thick. Heavy. Like wet stone. We walked. The road was long. The sky was low. "Are you sure?" I asked. My voice sounded small. Thin. A thread in the wind. Old Silas did not look back. He kept walking. His staff struck the earth. Tap. Tap. Tap. A steady rhythm. It matched my heartbeat. Or perhaps it ruled it. I was the...
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