The Faded Shield
The ledger entry read: Struan Wemyss, co-conspirator. Ink still wet. Struan Wemyss woke with the taste of iron in his mouth. The dream had been of a shield, shattered, the wood splintering into a thousand useless shards. He lay still, listening to the mill wheel freed for the season, its groan a low, constant pulse in the walls of the croft. Thirty-two years old, and he was a prisoner in his...
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