The Golden Song
The cart wheels bit into the gravel of the rural road with a rhythmic, grinding complaint that seemed to echo the hollow ache in Elias Thorne’s chest. He sat in the back, his knees drawn up to his chin, clutching a wooden chest no larger than a bread box. The wood was worn smooth by years of handling, the varnish chipped to reveal the pale, vulnerable heartwood beneath. In the front, his...
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