The Distant Threshold
The mace struck the air where my head had been a second before. I rolled, the stone floor biting into my shoulder, and the Warden’s boot slammed into my ribs. I did not scream. Pain is a luxury; I am a soldier, and soldiers do not bleed for the enemy’s amusement. He raised the weapon again, the iron head catching the dim light from the high, barred window. I saw the vein in his neck, the...
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