The Wistful Saga
Fourteen hours of labor. That was the count in Elias Thorne’s head as he woke, the number heavy in his chest like a swallowed stone. He lay in the narrow bed of the rented room above the chandler’s shop, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked, in the grey pre-dawn light, like a map of a country he had left six years ago. The dream was still clinging to his eyelids. The border. It...
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