The Distant Journey
The wind had teeth. They gnashed against the wool of Elara’s cloak, stripping warmth from her bones in thin, shivering strips. She walked. The path was a scar in the earth, red clay baked hard by a sun that felt distant and cold. Around her, the forest stood silent. Tall oaks. Dark trunks. Leaves like rusted iron. Elara was the Keeper. She held the Satchel. Inside the leather pouch hung a...
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