The Golden Farce
"The spirits are hungry, Elias." The elder’s voice was dry, like the sound of dead leaves skittering over stone. Elias stood in the mud of the village square, his boots sinking into the wet earth. He did not look up. He looked at the pouch at his hip. It was heavy with the dried roots of yarrow and valerian, his entire wealth, his entire profession. "They are always hungry, Master Aldous,"...
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