The Faded River
The air in the tavern of Blackwood Mill hung heavy, thick with the scent of stale ale, roasting meat, and the wet, earthy tang of rain that had been beating against the high, narrow windows for three days without ceasing. It was the Feast of St. Jude’s, a day when the villagers of this isolated valley in the Scottish Highlands were expected to drink until their vision blurred and their...
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