The Pale Meridian
The road that wound out of the valley of Aethelgard did not so much exist as it was suffered into being, a ribbon of packed clay and broken stone that bled mud in the rains and dust in the dry season, and it was upon this ribbon that Elara Vane walked with her cart, the wheels of which groaned in a low, mournful register that seemed to harmonize with the aching in her own bones. She was a...
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