The Distant Cartograph
The road to the village of Oakhaven was not paved, but it was worn smooth by centuries of ox-carts and the heavy, mud-caked boots of men who had nowhere else to go. You walk it now, in the late afternoon, when the light turns the color of bruised plums and the mist rises from the valley floor. You carry a satchel that is heavy with secrets, heavier than the stone you hold against your chest....
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