The Wistful Mountain
In the dream, which was so thick with the scent of damp wool and ancient pine that it felt less like a hallucination and more like a physical immersion in a liquid dark, Elara stood before the great stone archway that had no door, only a passage through the rock that breathed a cold wind smelling of iron and snow, and she knew with a certainty that bypassed the logic of waking life that this...
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