The Wistful Show
The stone of Oakhaven Citadel did not merely stand; it breathed, a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction that Sir Kaelen felt in his teeth and the hollow of his chest. He was forty years old, though the weight of twenty years as the Warden had carved him into something less than a man and more like a fixture of the architecture, his skin the same grey-brown as the mortar, his eyes holding...
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