The Wistful Mountain
The iron bars of the cage were already vibrating with a low, mournful hum that seemed to rise from the bedrock of the earth itself, a sound that had been growing louder for three days since the magistrate’s men had dragged me from the deep, cold waters of the loch and deposited me, dripping and shivering, upon the stone floor of this vast and echoing chamber. I am a creature of the mist and the...
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