The Golden Quest
The rain hits the glass. It smears. You wipe it. The world blurs. You are running. The mud sucks at your boots. Heavy. Cold. You hold the compass. It is brass. Dented. The needle shakes. It points north. Or maybe south. You do not know. You stop. Your breath is a white ghost. It vanishes. Behind you, the forest is dark. Ahead, the road is broken. You turn. The ally is gone. No. Not gone....
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