The Wistful Mountain
The first thing Elara noticed was the silence. It was not the peaceful quiet of a snow-covered valley, but a held breath, a vacuum that sucked the sound from the air of the village of Oakhaven. She stood in the doorway of her apothecary, the morning frost biting at her fingers, watching the smoke rise from the chimneys of the cottages below. For three days, the winter fever had swept through...
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