The Wistful Mountain
The mist did not merely settle upon the valley of Oakhaven; it breathed, a low, resonant hum that vibrated in the teeth of those who lived within its gray embrace. Elias Thorne, a magistrate of forty years whose coat was still damp from the long journey up the mountain road, stood at the village gate with the rigid posture of a man carrying a burden he had forgotten he possessed. He had come...
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