The Pale Banner
"You missed the grain again, Gheorghe. The stone wants to split, and you are forcing it to hold." The voice of Master Krikor was dry, like the sound of a chisel striking a dry vein of quartz. I looked up from the block, my hands slick with a paste of lime and sweat that had caked into the whorls of my palms. We were in the shadow of the unfinished apse, the air thick with the dust of limestone...
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