The Distant Journey
The leather strap of the tool roll bit into Elias Thorne’s palm as he tightened the final buckle, the motion sharp and final in the drafty chill of the workshop. He was forty years old, and he had spent twenty of them hunched over brass and steel, buying his way out of the Abbey Guild with every hour of labor, every cent saved from the meager wages of a journeyman. The ledger on the desk was...
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