The Pale Banner
The bone was cold. It sat in Elias’s palm, a sliver of tibia from a goat, yet it felt like ice against the skin. He did not look up from the table. His sister, Clara, sat across from him, her fingers curled into the wool of her shawl, her breath a shallow rattle in the quiet room. The wind outside Oria howled against the shutters, a sound that seemed to gnaw at the edges of the walls. "You are...
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