The Faded Sutra

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2026-08-23 00:42:57 -

The Faded Sutra

The shears bit into the fleece with a sharp, metallic click, and Brother Thomas pulled the wool from the sheep’s flank in one long, heavy strip. His fingers were raw, the skin split and stinging against the cold November air that seeped through the gaps in the barn’s wooden slats. Before him lay the day’s inventory: four bales of raw fleece, a sack of barley, and the ledger bound in cracked...

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