The Distant Cartograph
The map was a living thing, or at least it had been, in the way that the ink still bled into the heavy, textured paper with a slow, capillary urgency, and in the way that the lines of latitude and longitude seemed to pulse with the faint, rhythmic heartbeat of the territory they claimed to possess. Elias Thorne held the sheaf of documents against the wind, which howled across the high, barren...
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