The Distant Whispers
The hammer struck the iron band, a dull thud that vibrated up the shaft and into Kaelen’s shoulder. He checked the weight of the tool, a heavy-headed sledge worn smooth by decades of use, and adjusted his grip. The mist in the valley of Aethelgard was thick enough to taste, a wet, cold film that coated his teeth. He had left Elara three days ago, her coughing a dry, rattling sound that had...
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