The Distant Blade
The weight of the loom frame in Michiko Kobayashi’s hands was a constant ache, a physical ledger of the debt she owed to the Guild, a debt measured not in coins but in the vitality drained from her lungs with every thread pulled. She remembered the morning she had left her cottage at eighty-four of the Bellfounders' Walk, the air sharp with the smell of wet wool and impending rain, knowing that...
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