The Golden Song
The ledger showed four hundred and twelve days since Elara’s first cough. Thomas counted the stitches in the hem of his tunic, a nervous habit that had worn the wool thin to the skin of his forearm. He needed the Abbot’s elixir. He needed it before the winter froze the roads, before the sickness took the last warmth from Elara’s lungs. The journey to the Abbey of St. Jude had taken three days...
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