The Distant Crown
The mud in Oakhaven was thick as tar, sucking at my boots with a wet, rhythmic pull that matched the thud of my own heart. I had been counting the seconds since the shadow first rose from the square, and I had reached forty-three when the light began to fail, the sun dipping low behind the church spire and casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to stretch toward me like grasping fingers. My...
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