The Distant Crown
Astrid Hagen remembered the weight of the loom stone, the one with the maker’s mark of the Salt Gate, as clearly as she remembered the first crack in her knuckles, and in the memory the stone was not a tool but a promise that the season would hold, a promise that the barley would stand, and a promise that the debt for the ladder would be paid before the winter dark swallowed the northern cape....
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