The Golden Compass
The tower stood in the valley. It was old. Stone. Cold. Elias climbed. His knees shook. The air was thin. Sharp. It cut his lungs. He was not young. His hair was white. His hands were rough. He had come from the sea. From the other side. He was a stranger here. He lived in the base. A room. Dark. Damp. The walls wept. He waited. The sickness came early. It was not a name. It was a weight. A...
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