The Faded Root
The frost had settled on the heather like a fine, grey powder, muffling the sound of my boots as I trudged along the single-track road that cut through the Scottish Highlands. It was a route I knew by heart, every dip and rise, every erratic stone, yet today the landscape felt strangely alien, stripped of its familiar warmth. I carried with me a leather satchel that contained the only things I...
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