The Wistful Saga
You stand at the center of the long oak table, the wood worn smooth by generations of hands that have poured and spilled and clinked glasses in the dark, and the candlelight flickers against the stone walls of the hall, casting long, wavering shadows that seem to breathe with the rhythm of the feast, for tonight is the night of the Binding, when the village of Ashford, ancient and immovable as...
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