The Golden Scar

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 10:27:18 -

The Golden Scar

The knife was wet. It sang against the bone. I carved the shoulder of the elk with a rhythm that felt like breathing. In, out. Slice, turn. The meat was dark red, marbled with fat. It smelled of iron and cold air. My hands were steady. They had always been steady. I was the last of the Butchers. The Guild called us Artisans. They called us necessary. We fed the Spire. We fed the High Ward. We...

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