The Distant Cartograph
The rain on the hull of the trawler was not just water, it was a cold, relentless interrogation that seeped into the bones of your hands which were wrapped around the tiller of the small boat you had commandeered from the dock, your knuckles white against the wet wood as you fought the current that pulled you away from the shore of the mainland where the lights of the town burned with a harsh,...
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