The Faded Chronicle
Chapter One I was hauling the prisoner’s collar across the bog road when the mud sucked at my boots with a sound like tearing cloth. The rain in Mayo does not fall; it presses, a cold, wet hand against the face, blurring the boundary stones that line the moor. I have walked this path for twelve years, and I know the stones shift when no one looks. It is not magic, merely the settling of the...
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