The Distant Clue
The wind in the highlands of Scotland did not merely blow; it stripped. It peeled the bark from the ancient pines and the flesh from the exposed earth, leaving only the grey, enduring bone of the rock beneath. It was a place where time felt less like a river and more like a slow, grinding erosion, wearing down the ambitions of men until they were as smooth and indistinguishable as the pebbles...
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