The Faded Root
Jelena Javakhishvili, the village thatcher, had been walking the seventy-one of the Tannery Steps for three days straight, her boots worn thin against the wet stone, carrying a debt for a ladder that would not be paid in coin but in the labor of her hands, a fine that the fortress colony collected with the precision of a surgeon and the indifference of a stone. The air in the garrison smelled...
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