The Faded River
"You’re not crossing, Elias. The water has spoken." I looked at Silas, his face a map of deep, dry wrinkles, his eyes fixed on the floorboards where the dust motes danced in the shaft of light from the high window. He did not look at me. He never did, not since the fever took Mara. The silence in the archive was heavy, pressing against my eardrums, broken only by the scratch of his quill on...
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