The Faded Attic
Forty-seven of Widow’s Landing sat on the ridge like a wound that refused to scab, the market stalls of the fortress colony bustling with the quiet, rationed loyalty of those who paid their taxes to a distant capital while the wind picked at the seams of their coats. Calum Fraser, thirty-four and the caravan’s horse doctor, stood in the shadow of his ancestral home, watching the roots of the...
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