The Golden Compass
The elm tree in the courtyard of the Blackstone Abbey had been planted, or so the ancient stone plaque insisted, in the year of the Great Frost, and it stood now with a trunk so thick and gnarled that it looked less like a living thing and more like a twisted spine of the earth itself, rising up into the grey, unyielding sky that had hung over the valley for as long as any of the brothers could...
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