The Distant Nightmare
The mortar crumbled under Thomas’s thumb, falling in grey flakes into the ditch below. He did not look down. He kept his eyes on the gate, where the wood was swelling against the iron hinges, groaning with a sound like a man clearing his throat. The year was 1348, and the debt on the family estate was a weight heavier than the stone he held. Thomas, the border warden, had sworn to keep the...
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