The Wistful Incense
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude did not lead so much as it ascended, a pale ribbon of packed earth climbing through the mist that clung to the valley floor like a shroud. Thomas Ashworth rode at the head of the column, his horse, a gray destrier named Balthazar, picking its way with the weary certainty of an animal that had walked these paths for decades. Behind him, the procession wound...
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