The Wistful Ashes
Act I "We are not going to the dock, Anders. You know the price of the silence." The voice of his sister, Elara, was thin, stretched over the steam rising from the laundry vats, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. Anders Lund stood by the window, watching the thaw turn the roads into a slurry of mud and ice that sucked at the boots of anyone foolish enough to walk them. He was...
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