The Wistful Voyage
The ice did not break; it screamed. It was a sound that rose from the bottom of the world, a grinding, tectonic groan that vibrated through the soles of my boots and into the marrow of my bones, before the horizon simply tore open. I stood on the deck of the *Aethelgard*, a merchant vessel that had been frozen in the North Atlantic for three years, and watched as the white silence of the polar...
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