The Faded Shield
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, weeping veil that turned the cobblestones of Harrowgate into a mirror of bruised grey skies and fractured reflections, and in that liquid gloom, I found the shield. It lay half-buried in the silt near the old millrace, not the gleaming emblem of heroism one might expect from legend, but a tarnished, dented piece of iron, its surface pitted...
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