The Distant Cartograph
You walk. The road is hard. The mud is old. You carry the box. It is light. It is heavy. You are Elias. You are far from home. The mist clings to your coat. It tastes of iron. It tastes of salt. You hear the bell. It rings low. It rings deep. You stop. You look. The village is there. It is small. It is white. It is stone. "Stop," says the voice. "Who goes?" "I go no where," you say. "I am...
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