The Distant Cartograph
"You missed the vein," Silas said. His voice was low, a rumble in the chest that matched the vibration of the loom behind him. Elara looked down at the sample. The wool was rough, matted. A gray thing. It should have been blue. Deep, arterial blue. "I followed the pattern," Elara said. She did not look at Silas. She looked at the floorboards, stained with years of dye and sweat. "You followed...
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