The Wistful Show
Frank Zorn was a man who owed a tithe in grain, and the granary walls were sweating with the damp of a bad year. I held the clay rattle in my left hand, its surface gritty and smooth, while the midwife, old Mrs. Gable, watched me from the shadows of the scribe’s stall. She knew everyone in the river kingdom, and she knew that my sister, Elara, was gone. The City Council had declared the...
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