The Golden Cellar
The packing was done by the light of a single tallow stub, the wax pooling in a white, congealed puddle on the workbench. Elias Thorne slid his adze into the leather roll, the metal cold against his calloused palm, and felt the finality of the gesture. He was forty years old, a master cooper in the mill town of Oakhaven, and he was leaving the only life he had known. The want that drove him was...
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