The Distant Cartograph
The river had no name on the maps I carried, a fact that amused me in the way that only precise absurdities can, for I was a man who had spent the better part of his life measuring the world in inches and feet, yet here I was, standing on a bank of silt and rot, holding a chart that declared the very water beneath my feet to be a blankness, a void where reality had failed to be recorded. My...
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