The Faded Quadrant
The fever in Thomas’s throat had turned the boy’s lips the color of dried blood, a stark warning that the winter’s chill had settled deep into the marrow of the house. Sir Aldric stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, watching the small figure shiver beneath the woolen blankets. He had promised the village elder that he would return before the sun crossed the...
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