The Distant Crown
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, grey dust that clung to the thatch and the stone. You stand at the edge of the village, where the cobblestones end and the wild, unmanaged heath begins. Your boots are caked in the red mud of the lower fields, a stain that no amount of scrubbing will lift. It is the color of old blood, or perhaps just rust. It does not matter. What matters...
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