The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 12:35:42 -

The Distant Wound

The feast was a riot of tallow light and salted pork. Thomas sat at the end of the long oak table. He did not eat. He watched the others chew, their jaws working in the gloom, the sound of their breathing thick and wet in the cold air. The hall smelled of woodsmoke and unwashed bodies. Outside, the wind screamed against the stone walls, a low, mournful howl that seemed to vibrate in the bones...

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