The Faded Shield
The rain in the highlands did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that blurred the line between the sky and the heather, and Elias Thorne stood alone in the clearing, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen blood in forty years, his breath coming in ragged, white plumes that vanished before they could reach the ground. He was waiting for the thing that had eaten his...
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