The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 09:00:05 -

The Distant Joke

The leather strap of the pistol holster, worn thin by twenty years of friction against the same hip bone, creaked in the cold air as Elias Thorne pulled the reins tight, the horse’s breath pluming in white clouds that smelled of salt and wet wool. He was riding toward Kettle Creek, a place that existed on the maps only as a smudge of ink near the northern border, and in his saddlebag, wrapped...

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