The Faded Quadrant
The boundary line did not exist on any map that Edward Ashworth had ever studied, yet it cut through the fog with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, separating the wet, decaying earth of the lowlands from the dry, silent stone of the high plateaus where the air tasted of iron and old blood. He stood on the wet side, his boots sinking into the mud that seemed to cling to him with a sentient,...
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