The Distant Temple
The mud of the valley floor was not merely wet but liquid, a thick, sucking clay that seemed to possess a sentient will to devour the boots of the men who waded through it, pulling them down into the dark, cold belly of the earth with a rhythmic, wet tearing sound that echoed off the distant, fog-choked peaks of the highlands. Thomas Ashworth, who was no more than a boy of fifteen though he...
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