The Pale Bonsai
The ash tree in the yard was dead. I knew it was dead before the leaves turned, before the first frost stiffened the branches into jagged fingers pointing at the gray sky. I just knew it. A cold knowledge, like the ache in a joint that predicts rain. My name is Elias Thorne, and I have been the warden of Blackwood Hollow for forty years. Or I was. The title sounds grander than it is. I am the...
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