The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-22 18:32:04 -

The hammer struck the nail, and the wood split, a jagged white tear running down the length of the oak beam. I watched the splinter fall, then looked at Thomas. His hands were steady enough to hold the mallet, but his knuckles were white, the skin pulled tight over the bone. The granary was cold. It was always cold in November, a damp chill that settled in the marrow and refused to leave,...

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