The Wistful Show
The rain fell in sheets, turning the border mud into a slurry that sucked at Elias Thorne’s boots with every step. He gripped the haft of his fractured shield, the wood splintered and wet, the only remnant of the ancestral hall his father had built and his mother now mourned. Around him, the line of men bent against the weight of the invading horde, their breath tearing at the cold air, their...
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