The Distant Cartograph
"You're bleeding," said Elias. His voice was thin, scraped raw by the wind that howled through the gaps in the tin roof of the surveying shed. He did not look up from the map spread across the wobbly folding table, his stylus hovering over a contour line he had drawn a hundred times before, yet never quite right. "I'm not bleeding," Julian replied, his teeth chattering not from cold, but from...
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