The Distant Whispers
Himari Inoue pressed the bone folder into the wet clay, smoothing the rim of the bowl until the surface was slick and cold against his thumb, the motion a repetitive prayer that kept his hands from trembling as the ship’s log, water-stained and swollen, lay open on the workbench beside him. The year was 1347, and the air in the workshop above the stable hung heavy with the dampness of the...
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