The Wistful Atlas
Thomas. The name came from the driver, a thick-necked man named Halloway, who did not look up from the reins as he said it. I was thirty years old, a squire in the service of Lord Malverne, and I had been promised the rank of knight if I could deliver this cart of grain across the Blackmoor before the first hard frost. It was a simple task, or so I believed, until the sound began. It was a...
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