The Golden Oath
The copper pot bubbled over the charcoal fire, spitting sparks onto Elias’s woolen tunic, and he did not flinch, his hands steady as he stirred the thick, amber sludge with a wooden spoon worn smooth by decades of use. The air in the cellar was thick with the scent of dried rosemary, crushed willow bark, and the metallic tang of the tincture itself, a smell that clung to the back of the throat...
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