The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-22 08:02:36 -

The feast was a lie of meat and ale, a heavy, red smear on the white tablecloth of the Oakhaven hall. You sat at the head, the border warden’s coat stiff against your back, watching the villagers eat with the quiet, grinding satisfaction of those who know the walls are safe. Your pension was three years away, a number that felt like a rope around your neck, tight and unyielding. You needed...

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