The Distant Cartograph
The stone tower of the old mill stood alone in the center of the valley, a grey finger pointing accusingly at a sky that had not seen the sun in three days. Elias Thorne sat on the cold flagstones at its base, his back against the rough-hewn masonry, feeling the dampness seep through his thin wool coat and settle into the marrow of his bones. He was not cold, or at least he told himself he was...
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