The Golden Quest
The stone house had been weeping for a hundred years, but only Eamon could hear it. It was a low, wet sound, like a thumb scraping across a wet lip, rising from the mortar where the lichen grew thick and black. Eamon had been the mason’s apprentice when the structure was finished, a time before the war that took his brother, before the fever that took his wife, before the silence that took the...
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