The Faded Shield
The rain slicks the cobblestones of the abbey yard. You stand at the edge of the stone wall, fingers raw and bleeding. The mud is cold against your boots. You are twelve years old. Your name is Thomas. You are leaving. The bell tower looms above you. It is a square of dark grey stone, indifferent to the weather. It is indifferent to you. You look up at it. It looks back with empty windows. This...
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