The Distant Crown
The white foxes are on the ridge again. You see them before you see the sun, a jagged line of pale fur against the dark shale, watching the hollow with eyes that hold no warmth. They are a curse, you tell yourself. A debt paid in blood for the brother you lost, the mine that took him, the life that broke. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, and you have three days to buy the deed to your father’s...
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