The Distant Cartograph
The cart was not moving. It hovered, suspended in a gray twilight that smelled of ozone and wet wool, while Elias Whitmore gripped the reins with hands that had begun to shake. The landscape around him was not a landscape at all, but a palimpsest of maps, layers of topography shifting like oil on water. Here, a mountain range folded into a valley; there, a river reversed its course, flowing...
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