The Golden Scar
Act I The valley floor was a grid of mud and commerce, the thaw having turned the pack roads into slurry that swallowed the wheels of the supply carts. In the county assessor’s office, the air was dry and smelled of old paper and the sharp, metallic tang of the tobacco cutter, a sound that sliced the silence like a guillotine blade. I stood at the counter, my hands white-knuckled around a small...
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