The Wistful Ashes
The grain is dry. You know this because your boots crunch against the floorboards, a sound that echoes in the hollow barn like a knuckle rapping on a coffin lid. The air smells of stale straw and the metallic tang of fear. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a border warden with a pension that depends on this arrest. You want the Ash-Eater. You want to secure your future. You want the...
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