The Golden Compass
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the mud of the valley floor into a slick, breathing thing that swallowed the boots of any man foolish enough to walk it, and it was into this damp, rotting silence that Elara Vane walked, her cloak heavy with water, her face set in a mask of such profound, unyielding stillness that the village elders had begun to...
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