The Faded Dust
Elias Thorne, you will come down from that ridge before the light turns, or I will send the men to drag you down by your hair. The voice of Silas cut through the morning fog like a blade through wet wool, sharp and indifferent to the fact that your hands were already shaking, not from the cold which bit at your knuckles, but from the primal, animal terror of a man watching the light in his...
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