The Distant Legend
The fire started in the rafters. It was a thin line of orange. Then a thick one. Smoke curled down, black and wet. It smelled of pine and old fear. Elara sat on the floor. She was twelve. Her knees were drawn to her chest. Her hands were empty. The cellar door was open. The stairs were a ladder of shadow. Above her, the house groaned. Her brother, Tomas, was on the stairs. He held a bucket. His...
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