The Golden Quest
The mist in the valley of Aethelgard did not roll in so much as it seeped up from the wet earth, a cold, damp breath that clung to the wool of Elias’s coat and the damp hair of the children who watched him from the porch of the infirmary. He was forty years old, a man whose hands were stained permanently green from crushing willow bark and dried sage, and he carried the weight of a village that...
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