The Golden Oath
Chapter One Bronwen Griffiths ground the dried yarrow in the stone mortar, the pestle moving in slow, circular arcs that scraped against the mineral grit, a sound that filled the small, cold room with a rhythmic, grinding hiss. The air was heavy with dried herbs and the metallic tang of the leaking pipe overhead, a constant drip that marked time in the silence of the signal box. He was a comms...
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