The Distant Blade
You stand at the edge of the feast, where the air is thick with the scent of roasted lamb and burnt honey, and you feel the weight of the object in your pocket like a stone swallowed whole, a cold, hard knot of iron that has not been touched by fire in years, a blade that you have carried across borders and through winters that did not care if you lived or died, and you are looking for the...
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