The Distant Blade
The rust on the iron blade counted three inches of decay, a measurement Thomas Bradshaw made with a thumb that smelled of wet wool and cellar damp. It was November, 1912, and the farm house in the valley stood like a broken tooth against the grey sky. Thomas held the blade up, the metal cold against his palm, and watched the wind strip the leaves from the apple trees in a slow, peeling motion....
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