The Faded Alibi
The river did not care for men, nor for the stones they set in its path. It moved with a slow, muscular indifference, carving the banks of the village of Ashwick in the year of our Lord 1342. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the water’s edge, his boots sinking into the wet silt, his twelve-year-old body shivering not from the cold but from the weight of the task before him. He was alone. The morning...
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