The Golden Circuit
The ink had not yet dried on the final line of the dispatch, a document that smelled faintly of iron and old parchment, when the bell in the square began to toll, a sound that was less a warning than a heavy, rhythmic exhale from the throat of the valley itself, shaking the dust from the eaves of the timbered houses and rattling the glass in the windows of the magistrate’s office where Elias...
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