The Distant Wound
The ink on the ledger page was not yet dry when the tremor started in Silas Thorne’s left hand. It was a subtle thing, a faint spasm that turned the tip of his quill into a shivering leaf, blotting the date of the latest grain requisition with a dark, irregular stain. He stared at the mark, a small black wound in the parchment, and felt a sudden, crushing shame. Silas had been the Keeper of the...
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