The Golden Harbor
The road into the Hinterlands did not end so much as it dissolved into the fog, a gray veil that hung heavy over the pine-needles and the ancient, twisted oaks that stood like sentinels of a forgotten age. I walked with the rhythmic, measured step of a man who had long since ceased to count the miles, my boots sinking into the soft, damp earth that smelled of rot and iron. I was a Warden of the...
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