The Distant Nightmare
Elias, the scribe, stand up before the gate, or you will be beaten for loitering. The voice of the constable was sharp, cutting through the damp morning air of Oakhaven, and I turned to see the village elders standing behind him, their faces hard with the familiar suspicion that had grown over me like moss on a stone wall. I held the shard of the boundary stone in my left hand, its edge worn...
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