The Faded Road
My hand was trembling as I tried to force the iron clasp of the ledger shut, the metal cold and slick with condensation that had no business being there on a dry October afternoon, and I felt the weight of the book settle against my thigh with a heaviness that seemed to pull my entire body down into the saddle. It was the autumn of 1342, and I was forty-three years old, the last knight of the...
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