The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-24 04:58:15 -

The Distant Ghost

The wool was damp, a heavy, sodden thing that smelled of lanolin and the wet earth of the highlands, and Elias Thorne had carried it for three days without rest, the strap cutting a deep, white furrow into his shoulder that had long since stopped stinging and begun to ache with a dull, constant throb. He stood now in the muddy courtyard of the monastery of St. Jude, the year being 1348, and the...

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