The Distant Blade
The chisel struck the oak. The wood splintered. Silas dropped the tool. It clattered on the workshop floor, rolling against the heavy base of the lathe. He did not look down. He looked at the grain. The grain was dead. The knot in the center, a dark eye that had always promised a face, had burst open under his pressure. The shape he had spent three months carving was gone. Not broken. Just...
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