The Wistful Crossroads
The leather of the glove was cracked and dry, a topography of small wounds that mirrored the weathered skin of Elias Thorne’s hand, though the glove itself was an artifact of a different era, stitched from the hide of a creature that no longer roamed the forests of Oakhaven. It sat on the workbench, a heavy, silent thing, waiting to be filled. Elias was a maker of protective gear for the Guild...
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