The Wistful Campus
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude was not a road in any sense that a cartographer might acknowledge, but rather a bruise in the earth, a dark line of packed mud and loose shale that wound through the highlands like a vein of iron. It was late autumn in the year of the King’s third war, though the seasons in this forgotten corner of the north had long since ceased to obey the calendar, turning...
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