The Distant Ghost
The morning light fell in slanted, dusty bars across the workshop floor, illuminating the floating motes that danced above the leather scraps and the heavy, iron-bound workbench. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands resting on a piece of cured hide that was still warm from the tanning drum, a faint smile playing on his lips that did not quite reach his eyes. He was a man of slight build,...
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