The Distant Cartograph
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that turned the muddy track into a river of brown sludge, and it was in this relentless downpour that Thomas Bradshaw walked, his boots sinking deep into the earth with every laborious step, the weight of his worn leather coat pressing down upon his shoulders like a physical manifestation of the debt he carried, a debt not of...
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