The Golden Farce
The road to the northern coast was not a path so much as a suggestion of passage, a ribbon of crushed gravel and wet mud that wound through the dense, breathing lungs of the forest. Elias walked it with the heavy, deliberate cadence of a man whose legs had forgotten how to move without counting the cost of every step. He was an old man, or he felt old, which is often the same thing, carrying on...
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