The Faded Road
The frost bit at the edges of your vision, a crystalline lattice forming on the glass of the carriage window as you watched the moorland scroll by. You were a man of words, a taxonomist of the invisible, yet here you were, reduced to a creature of hunger and cold, clutching a leather satchel against your chest. Inside lay not gold, nor maps, but the specimen that had consumed your life’s work:...
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