The Distant Joke
The scribe’s voice, thin and reedy, cut through the howling wind of the pass as it called out, "Elias! Elias, you are late, and the snow is deep, and the debt grows heavier with every hour you waste in the cold." The words hung in the air, sharp as the frost that crusted the wool of Elias’s cloak, a garment patched so many times it had lost all semblance of its original shape, resembling less a...
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