The Faded Frontier
The air in the valley of the Ashwood was thick with the scent of crushed lavender and impending rain, a heavy, cloying perfume that seemed to press against the skin like a damp cloth. Elias Thorne, a boy of eleven years with eyes the color of wet slate and a silence that had grown as deep and tangled as the roots of the ancient oaks surrounding him, sat at the head of a long, scarred wooden...
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