The Golden Oath
The dough was cold, stiff as a corpse’s jaw, and your hands were buried deep in it, working the salt into the gluten until it yielded. It was the only thing that made sense in the bakery, the rhythmic pushing and folding, the smell of yeast rising like a fever. Outside, the border town of Kael was holding its breath, the streets empty save for the mud and the distant, rhythmic thud of boots....
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