The Distant Journey
The cloak had been waiting for him on the bench in the antechamber, folded with a precision that felt like a wound. It was not a gift; it was a burden, woven from the heavy, undyed wool of the northern flocks, thick enough to shield against the biting frost of the highlands but heavy enough to crush the spine of a man who did not know how to carry the weight of a command. Silas Vane stood in...
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