The Distant Legend
The carriage wheels groaned against the loose gravel, a rhythmic, grinding complaint that matched the low thrum of Elias Thorne’s anxiety. He sat in the back, his hands resting on his lap, fingers intertwined, knuckles white from the pressure. The air inside the vehicle was thick, stagnant, smelling of old wool and the damp earth that seeped through the cracks in the window frames. Outside, the...
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