The Distant Threshold
The river did not flow so much as it exhaled, a long, slow breath of silt and starlight that had been held since the age before memory, and it was in the belly of that breath that Elara found herself wading, the water rising past her ankles, her knees, her waist, each step a negotiation with a liquid that felt less like water and more like the cooling blood of a god who had forgotten how to...
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