The Golden Oath
The rain did not fall so much as it invaded, a cold, relentless mist that seeped into the marrow of the bones and turned the red clay of the Appalachian foothills into a sucking, treacherous mire that threatened to swallow whole the weary procession of twelve men who had marched out of the town of Harrow’s Creek three days prior with nothing but the promise of a harvest that the dry summer had...
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