The Distant Crown
The hammer fell with a dull, resonant thud that vibrated up the haft and into the calloused meat of Arthur’s palm, a rhythm as steady and inevitable as the beating of a failing heart, and he did not stop, he could not stop, for the iron was hot and the fire was bright and the clock on the wall was ticking down the last precious, irrevocable minutes of the afternoon, and every strike was a...
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