The Wistful Silence
The wind didn't howl so much as it read, a low, grinding recitation of names that had been carved into the tundra long before the border was drawn, before the men in their grey coats arrived with their surveying chains and their ink-stained fingers to claim the white silence for the Crown. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the pass, his breath hanging in the air like a ghost that refused to...
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