The Golden Compass
The mud sucked at Cael’s boots. It was thick, black, and smelled of rot and old iron. He pulled his leg free with a wet snap. The sound was loud in the silence of the ruins. He was not supposed to be here. The Wall had fallen three days ago. The Order had retreated to the high citadel, leaving the lower districts to the grey fog and the things that lived in it. Cael had stayed. He had a...
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