The Golden Oath
The chisel bit deep into the alabaster, sending a fine white dust drifting through the shaft of afternoon light that pierced the workshop’s high, arched window. Elias Thorne, his hands steady despite the tremor that had begun to settle in his knees over the last three winters, leaned his weight into the cut, shaping the lion’s mane with a precision that had taken him twenty years to master. He...
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