The Golden Harbor
The knife broke. It snapped clean at the hilt. The steel tip skittered across the wet stone. It rolled into the dark. Tomas froze. His hands shook. The blood was not his. It was the porridge. It was the life. The bowl shattered. Oatmeal splattered the floor. It looked like grey flesh. It looked like mud. He looked up. The eyes were there. They were old. They were cold. They were the eyes of the...
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