The Faded River
The rain did not fall so much as it exhaled, a cold, persistent mist that clung to the cobblestones of the village square like a second skin. Elara stood at the edge of the market, her fingers white-knuckled around the handle of a wicker basket that smelled of damp straw and rotting herbs. She was leaving. Or rather, she was being sent away, for in the old city of Oakhaven, where the walls were...
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