The Golden Oath
Elias. The name was not spoken by the Abbot, but by Brother Thomas, whose voice cracked like dry wood under the weight of the morning’s chill. Elias was in the orchard, his hands buried in the black, wet earth, when he heard it. He did not look up. He knew the sound of Thomas’s anxiety; it was a specific, high-pitched whine that usually preceded a report of rot or ruin. Around him, the apple...
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