The Pale Banner
Thorne. The word hit the back of Elias’s skull like a stone thrown by a child. He did not turn. He was already moving, boots scraping the gravel of the yard, the smell of wet wool and stale tobacco clinging to his coat. Behind him, the voice of the foreman, Mr. Halloway, was flat, bored, and utterly certain. "Carry the seal yourself," Halloway called out. "Do not let it touch the cart. If the...
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