The Distant Clue
The rain had not ceased for three days, and the mud of the approach to the Abbey of St. Jude clung to my boots like a living thing, sucking at my heels with a wet, heavy persistence that mirrored the dread settling in my chest. I carried only a single leather satchel, and within it, wrapped in oilcloth, lay the cracked glass vial of my mentor, a relic so fragile it seemed to hold the last...
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