The Faded Dust
The clay pot was heavy in Elias’s hands, a weight that seemed to anchor his feet to the frozen earth as he stepped off the packed dirt of the lane and onto the moor. It was a simple, unglazed vessel, cracked down one side where his mother had dropped it in her final weeks, and inside it sat the last cutting of the rose she had coaxed into bloom before the winter took her. Elias was twelve, thin...
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