The Distant Whispers
The stone walls of the infirmary wept with condensation, a cold, mineral sweat that seeped into the floorboards and froze the toes of those who slept there, but it was the smell of boiled herbs and old blood that hung thickest in the air, a cloying fog that Elara breathed in with every shallow gasp of the boy lying on the cot before her. She held the shawl tightly in her left hand, the wool...
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